} 


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"jIM,  THIS  YKU's  DOC   WEYMOTTTH" 


POKER  JIM, 

GENTLEMAN 


Other  Tales  and  Sketches 


G.   FRANK    LYDSTON 


PUBLISHERS 

MONARCH   BOOK  COMPANY 

CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT    1906     BY 

MONARCH      BOOK     COMPANY 

GH ICAGO 


f 


To 

The  Most  Indulgent  of  My  Friends 

And  the  Least  Charitable  of  My   Critics 

This  Book  will  Give  Joy. 

To  Them  I  Dedicate  It. 

The  Author 


M513155 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"jiM,  THIS  yer's  doc  weymouth" Frontispiece 

JFIM   WAS   BOUNDING   TOWARD   THE   OPEN    DOOR,    LEAVING   HIS 
INSITLTER  LYING  UPON  THE  FLOOR  WITH  A  CLEAN  CUT  IN 

HIS  CHEST 42 

THERE  WAS  A  SHORT,  SHARP  STRUGGLE,  A  HARMLESS  SHOT,  AND 
JIM'S  INSULTER  was  lying  on  THE  FLOOR  WITH  A  CLEAN 

CUT  IN  HIS  CHEST 63 

JOHNNY   GOT   A   STRANGLE   HOLD    ON   THE    FILIPINo's   THROAT 
WITH  HIS  LEFT  HAND,  WHILE  WITH  HIS  RIGHT  HE  DREW 

HIS  KNIFE 143 

"custom-made  sorrow" 160 

A  ROPE  WAS  SPEEDILY  FOUND  AND  TIED  ABOUT  MY  NECK 202 

A  WISE   CHILD 216 

"is  my  cousin  JUAN  A  COWARD,  THAT  HE  LIES  IN  AMBUSH?"      286 


CONTENTS 


Poker  Jim,  Gentleman 1 

Tommy  the  Outcast 81 

Johnny 114 

My  Friend  the  Undertaker 160 

A  Grim  Memento 182 

A  Wise  Child 216 

Leaves  from  a  Suicide's  Diary 247 

Chicquita 266 

A  Dead  Ideal 297 

A  Matter  of  Professional  Secrecy 323 

A  Legend  of  the  Yosemite 351 

A  Great  City's  Shame 372 


PREFACE 


It  requires  some  assurance  to  step  out  of  the 
conventional  in  story  writing.  Especially  does 
it  require  courage  on  the  part  of  one  whose 
ideals  of  what  a  story  should  be  are  far  beyond 
what  his  productions  can  ever  attain-  But 
the  physician,  who  gets  closer  to  things  human 
than  others  do,  may  perhaps  be  forgiven 
unorthodox  subjects  and  methods  of  expression. 
Surely,  also,  he  will  be  excused  for  drawing 
upon  his  own  field  of  work  for  his  subject 
matter. 

I  have  this  to  say  of  my  material  characters 
— they  are  all  taken  from  life.  Even  Tommy 
the  Outcast  was  the  genuine  article  of  hero. 
He  crept  into  my  life  through  a  hole  in  my 
cellar  window  one  furiously  stormy  night. 
He  went  out  of  it  via  a  dose  of  poison,  meant 
for  his  hereditary  foes — the  rats.  Talk?  No, 
he  did  not  talk,  but  I'm  sure  he  used  to  think — 
hard  and  often — and  I  fancy  no  one  will  up- 
braid me  for  trying  in  my  feeble  way  to  read 


X  PREFACE 

their  dear  old  hands  and  listen  to  their  oft 
told  tales  of  the  romantic  earl}'  days  of  mj' 
native  state. 

I  recently  spent  several  hours  at  the  house 
of  a  friend  in  San  Francisco,  watching  the  play 
of  emotion  on  the  wrinkled  face  of  an  aged  Ar- 
gonaut as  he  listened  while  our  host  and  I  were 
discussing  the  various  characters  of  the  story 
of  Poker  Jim.  Needless  to  say,  old  time  memo- 
ries were  re^ived  in  the  mind  of  the  poor  old 
man.  I  shall  never  forget  his  tear  dimmed 
eyes  as  he  looked  up  at  me  and  said,  reverently, 
"Doc,  I  knowed  'em  well — your  pa,  an'  your 
gTan'pa,  an'  Poker  Jim  an'  all  on  'em." 

As  I  sit  here  in  my  quiet  study  harking 
back  to  my  last  trip  to  the  mountains  and 
valleys  of  Tuolumne  and  Calaveras,  there  ap- 
pears before  my  mind's  eye  a  picture  of  the 
old  golden  days  brought  do\\Ti  to  the  year  1900. 
In  the  foreground,  at  the  door  of  his  rude  log 
cabin,  stands  that  dear  old  octogenarian, 
"French  Tom"  of  Tuolumne,  gazing  toward 
the  green  verdured  hills  on  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  river,  just  where  Moccasin  Creek  de- 
bouches into  the  swdft  running  crystal  waters 
of  the  Tuolumne.  He  shades  his  poor  old 
eyes  with  his  hand,  and  looks  long  and  eai-n. 


PREFACE  xi 

estly  at  a  man  who  is  slowly  passing  along  the 
old  Yosemite  trail.  When  he  reached  the 
summit  of  the  hill  the  man  turned  and  stood 
limned  against  the  brilliant  morning  sky,  a 
ghost  of  happier  days. 

Long  past  three  score  and  ten,  bent  and 
withered,  crippled  with  the  "rheumatiz,"  with 
pick  on  shoulder  and  pan  and  grub  wallet 
by  his  side,  "Dixie"  was  still  pursuing  the  Golden 
Fleece.  On  the  morrow — Sunday — Tom  and 
Dixie  would  meet  and  talk  it  all  over,  and  tell 
each  other  the  same  old  wonderful  hes  of 
enormous  golden  finds,  and  ''saltings"  of  the 
tenderfoot,  that  they  had  been  exchanging 
since  '49. 

''Good  luck,  old  pard!"  and  "The  same  to 
you!"  were  wafted  gently  down  the  beautiful 
valley  to  the  heart-full  wanderer  who  had 
come  home  after  so  many  years. 

Dixie  vanished  over  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
and  Tom  dove  into  his  tumble-down  shack  to 
prepare  the  breakfast  of  fish  fresh  from  the 
river  to  which  he  had  invited  his  doctor  friend. 

And  the  picture  that  my  memory  paints  is 
no  longer  possible,  for  dear  old  Dixie  has  gone 
over  the  Divide,  to  dig  for  gold  at  the  foot  of 
eternal  rainbows  in  the  placers  of  the  Great 


xii  PREFACE 

Beyond.  And  I  am  glad  that  I  went  in  quest  of 
childhood's  memories  while  it  was  yet  time. 

Out  of  the  Valley  of  Shadows,  Mnemosyne — 
most  puissant  goddess  of  them  all — leads  forth 
a  procession  of  misty  famihar  shapes  that  bring 
the  warmth  of  affection  to  my  heart  and  the 
smile  of  welcome  to  my  Hps.  And  they  smile 
back  at  me  in  that  quiet  way  which  friendly 
shadows  have. 

As  the  vag-ue  and  unsubstantial  forms  flit 
silently  past  me  from  out  the  ivory  portals 
where  Memory's  golden  scepter  holds  undis- 
puted sway,  I  recognize  a  host  of  my  boyhood's 
friends;  'Toker  Jim",  '^Boston",  'Toppy," 
''Big'*  Brown,  "Yankee",  "Jersey",  "Link" 
Spears,  Tom  Chandler,  Dave  Smuggins,  Ike 
Dessler,  Bill  Loveless,  and  many  more  of  the 
bronzed,  deep-chested,  red-shirted,  hair-trig- 
gered Knights  of  the  Golden  Fleece  smile  back 
at  me  from  the  ghostly  file. 

Last,  but  not  least,  comes  my  boyhood's 
hero,  that  Turpin  of  the  border,  "Three  Fin- 
gered Jack"  of  Calaveras,  who  has  been  served 
up  to  us  in  so  many  and  various  forms  of 
hterary  hash  that  I  shall  one  day  write  his  true 
history  as  a  matter  of  pious  duty. 

G.  Frank  Lydston. 


POKER   JIM.   GENTLEMAN 


FOKER  JIM.  GENTLEMAN 


It  was  in  the  spring  of  1860,  that  the  faculty 
of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania  concluded  to 
confer  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Medicine  upon 
your  humble  servant.  Whether  the  faculty  of 
that  now  famous  school  allowed  me  to  graduate 
on  the  principle  that  actuated  the  performers  in 
a  western  band,  who  implored  their  audiences 
not  to  shoot,  as  they  were  doing  the  best  they 
could,  I  cannot  say,  but  graduate  I  did,  and 
as  with  all  other  students  of  medicine,  it  was 
then  that  my  troubles  began  I  was  not  long 
in  discovering  that  the  piece  of  crisp  parchment 
which  the  members  of  the  faculty  had  endorsed 
as  showing  the  scientific  qualifications  of  William 
Weymouth,  M.  D.  and  which  entitled  him  to 
practice  medicine,  was  no  open  sesame  to  fame 
and  prosperity. 

My  parents  were  at  that  time  living  in 
Kentucky,  in  a  small  town  that  offered  httle 
encouragement  to  a  young  man  beginning  prac- 
tice. The  confidence  of  one's  old  neighbors 
is  of  even  slower  growth  than  the  beard  for 


2  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

which  the  young  doctor  yearns,  as  a  badge  of 
wisdom  and  learning  that  he  v/ho  runs  may 
read. 

The  country  in  which  I  spent  my  boyhood — 
I  was  born  in  the  state  of  Maine — ^w^as  even  less 
inviting  than  the  state  of  my  adoption.  It  is 
possible  that  I  entertained  a  little  of  my  mother's 
prejudice  against  Yankeedom  in  those  days. 
She  was  a  native  of  Kentucky,  and  had  never 
become  thoroughly  reconciled  to  the  country 
to  which  my  father  had  taken  her  soon  after  her 
marriage.  It  was  in  acquiescence  to  her  home- 
sick pleadings  that  my  father  finally  moved  to 
Kentucky,  and  settled  in  the  little  town 
wherein  my  parents  lived  for  the  rest  of  their 
days  in  such  happiness  as  people  of  modest 
means  can  secure  only  among  the  warm  hearted, 
generous  people  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line. 

Had  my  home  surroundings  offered  any 
inducements  to  the  professional  career  I  had 
planned  for  myself,  I  should  certainly  have 
returned  home  to  practice.  My  parents  were 
living  alone,  and  my  natural  impulse  was  to 
return  to  them  and  do  the  best  I  could  at 
practice,  as  long  as  thej^  should  live.  It  was 
with  some  twinges  of  conscience,  therefore,  that 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  3 

I  finally  decided  against  going  back  to  Kentucky 
to  locate. 

There  were  but  three  of  us  children,  a  brother, 
younger  than  myself,  and  a  sister,  two  years 
older.  My  sister  had  married  a  gentleman  from 
Memphis,  and  had  long  since  gone  to  that  city 
to  hve.  My  young  brother  had  left  home  some 
years  before  I  graduated,  and  no  one  knew  what 
had  become  of  him,  much  to  my  regret  and  to 
the  sorrow  of  his  parents,  whose  favorite,  I  must 
admit,  the  boy  had  ever  been. 

Jim  had  always  been  a  wild  lad,  and  was 
stamped  as  an  incorrigible  almost  as  soon  as  he 
could  toddle  alone.  It  was  said  that  a  little 
of  the  old  strain  of  Indian  blood,  with  which 
tradition  had  endowed  our  family,  had  cropped 
out  in  him.  He  was  one  of  those  rollicking, 
handsome  dare-devils  that  everybody  fears 
and  loves  at  the  same  moment.  The  very  sight 
of  Jim's  curly,  black  head  and  mischievous  eyes 
struck  the  good  neighbors  with  terror.  Trouble 
was  expected  from  the  moment  that  boy  put 
in  an  appearance — and  the  good  folks  were 
seldom  disappointed.  Sometimes  they  would 
acknowledge  that  ''it  might  have  been  worse," 
but  such  occasions  were  rare. 

But  all  who  knew  the  curly  headed  Uttle 


4  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

rascal  admitted  that  he  possessed  two  excellent 
quaUties;  he  was  as  brave  as  a  Hon  and  kind- 
hearted  to  a  fault.  He  would  fight  at  ''the  drop 
of  the  hat,"  and  no  boy  ever  heard  him  cry 
quits.  He  was  as  ready  to  split  a  cord  of  wood 
for  a  poor  widow,  as  he  was  to  tie  a  tin  can  to  her 
house-dog's  tail,  and  that's  saying  a  great  deal. 

As  the  boy  grew  toward  manhood,  he. fell  in 
with  evil  associates,  and  as  is  always  the^case 
with  boys  of  his  peculiar  disposition,  he  became 
thoroughly  demoralized.  Cards,  whisky,  horses 
and  women — these  were  the  unsubstantial  foun- 
dation upon  which  rested  the  new  world  that 
his  vicious  companions  opened  up  to  him. 

While  living  at  the  old  home  in  Kentucky,  I 
had  always  had  a  great  controlHng  influence  over 
Uttle  Jim,  and  even  after  I  left  home  for  college, 
I  maintained  a  certain  degree  of  influence  over 
him.  Gradually,  however,  our  correspondence 
became  infrequent,  until  we  heard  from  each 
other  only  at  very  long  intervals. 

Knowing  how  much  I  thought  of  the  lad,  my 
parents  never  alluded  to  Jim's  discrepancies  in 
their  letters  to  me.  I  have  sometimes  thought 
that  possibly  they  were  actuated  to  a  certain 
degree  by  false  pride ;  they  did  not  care  to  expose 
the  faihngs  of  their  idol  to  his  natural  rival  in 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  6 

their  affections — ^his  brother.  Whatever  the 
explanation  of  the  reticence  of  my  parents  may- 
have  been,  I  had  no  intimation  of  the  true  state 
of  affairs  until  after  the  poor  boy  had  fled  from 
home,  never  to  return. 

It  was  the  old  story;  a  woman,  a  rival,  a 
quarrel — ostensibly  the  outcome  of  a  game  of 
cards — the  he,  a  shot,  and  my  young  brother  a 
fugitive.  What  a  monotonous  sameness  there 
is  in  all  such  stories,  to  be  sure.  No  one  has 
invented  a  single  new  character  or  a  single  new 
situation  in  the  play  of  passion,  through  all  the 
ages.  What  new  phases  have  the  romanticists 
of  the  world  added  to  human  hopes,  fears,  senti- 
ments, passions  and  vices  in  all  the  centuries? 
None — ^and  yet  the  world  demands  originaUty 
of  its  authors! 

It  will  be  seen  that  I  was  between  two  fires, 
in  deciding  on  my  course  after  graduation — a 
sense  of  fihal  duty  to  my  sorrowing  and  lonely 
parents,  and  a  new-born  professional  ambition. 
As  is  usually  the  case,  ambition  conquered,  and 
I  decided  to  seek  my  fortune  in  new  fields,  far 
away  from  the  paternal  roof.  California  was, 
at  that  time,  by  no  means  a  new  sensation,  but 
the  novelty  of  the  gold  craze  had  not  yet  worn 
off.    I  had  no  particular  ambition  to  seek  my 


6  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

fortune  in  foreign  lands,  and  as  the  Pacific 
coast  was  to  ambitious  Americans  still  the  El 
Dorado  of  all  youthful  dreams,  I  very  naturally 
turned  my  thoughts  in  that  direction.  I  was 
not  long  in  coming  to  a  decision,  and  after  writing 
my  plans  to  my  parents,  I  made  my  arrange- 
ments to  depart  for  San  Francisco. 

The  choice  of  routes  to  Cahfornia  was  a  very 
simple  matter,  for  one  who  was  within  easy 
access  of  the  Atlantic  sea  board.  There  was  no 
railroad  communication  with  the  Pacific  coast 
in  those  days,  hence  I  was  compelled  to  select 
from  the  several  ocean  routes  that  which 
promised  to  consume  the  least  time.  With  this 
idea  I  embarked  at  New  York  City  for  San 
Francisco,  on  a  steamer  of  the  Panama  line,  and, 
after  a  pleasant  and  uneventful  voyage,  arrived 
in  San  Francisco,  the  portals  of  promise  through 
which  so  many  hopeful  Jasons  had  passed  be- 
fore me  in  search  of  the  Golden  Fleece. 

The  San  Francisco  gambling  house  was  the 
common  ground  upon  which  the  flotsani  and 
jetsam  of  the  early  cosmopolitan  population 
of  the  city  met.  The  proprietors  of  the  gam- 
bhng  hells  certainly  knew  human  nature  thor- 
oughly, judging  by  the  variety  of  excitement 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  7 

which  they  provided.  Every  known  game  and 
every  variety  of  Hquor  distinguished  for  its 
vital-reaching  propensities,  was  at  the  disposal 
of  their  patrons,  day  and  night.  The  boast 
of  the  gambling  house  keeper  was,  that  he  had 
thrown  away  his  front  door  key  the  day  the 
house  was  opened. 

When  the  gambling  fever  struck  the  good  citi- 
zen or  unwary  visitor  from  the  mines,  he  could 
have  his  choice  of  a  variety  of  remedies ;  monte, 
faro,  roulette,  poker — anything  he  pleased, 
providing  he  had  his  ^'dust"  with  him. 

And  do  not  imagine  that  the  proprietors  and 
dealers  of  the  games  were  low-browed,  ugly 
ruffians.  Smooth,  sleek  and  handsome  were  the 
nimble  fingered  gentry  who  attended  to  the 
wants  of  the  fever-stricken  fools  who  had  more 
ounces  in  their  pockets  than  in  their  brain-pans 
— until  the  fever  was  cured,  when  the  loss  of 
balance  was  in  the  other  direction.  Many  a 
college  education  was  wasted — or  utilized,  if 
you  please — on  the  dealer's  side  of  a  ' 'sweat- 
cloth"  in  some  of  those  denSo  My  fine  gentle- 
man would  not  swing  a  pick — ^unless  it  were  an 
ivory  one  with  which  he  could  take  away  a 
sturdy  miner's  golden  ounces  much  more  quickly 


8  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

than  the  hapless  fool  had  dug  them  with  the 
implements  of  honest  toil. 

But  the  scene  was  an  alluring  one,  never- 
theless. The  rattle  of  chips  and  dice;  the  ring- 
ing of  silver  and  the  clink  of  gold ;  the  thud  of  the 
buckskin  bags  of  gold  dust  as  they  were  reck- 
lessly thrown  upon  the  table;  the  duller,  yet 
more  portentous,  shuffling  of  the  cards ;  the  whir 
of  the  wheel  where  rouge  et  noir  was  being 
played,  were  entertaining  to  my  ear,  untrained 
as  it  was  to  such  sounds. 

"Come  up  and  make  your  bets,  gentlemen! 
The  game  is  made!  Five — eleven — eighteen — 
twenty  —  twenty-two  —  twenty-four  —  twenty- 
eight — thirty-one.  Red  wins!" — and  the  never 
ending  procession  of  excited  fools  stepped  up  to 
diversion  and  disaster. 

There  was  one  thing  the  proprietors  of  those 
gambhng  houses  forgot — they  should  have  had 
a  suicide  room  and  an  undertaking  department. 
It  would  have  saved  the  city  fathers  a  deal  of 
trouble  in  the  disposal  of  the  large  crop  of 
unknown  remains  that  the  morning  light  dis- 
closed in  obscure  corners  of  the  city — poor 
fugitives  from  self ;  victims  of  dens  where  Venus, 
Momus,  Terpsichore  and  Bacchus  grovelled  in 
the  dirt  yet  held  undisputed  sway. 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  9 

There  was  a  grim  irony,  and  yet,  withal,  a 
tinge  of  comedy,  in  the  farewell  treat  of  fiery 
liquor  with  which  the  management  bowed  out 
its  ruined  guests — bowed  them  out  of  the  den  of 
iniquity  and  into  a  slough  of  despond  from  which 
they  oft-times  never  emerged — on  this  side  of 
eternity. 

I  was  standing  one  evening  in  'The  Palace" 
— a  gambling  den  with  the  usual  appurtenances 
of  tributary  and  dependent  vice — curiously 
watching  the  movements  of  the  dealer  at  one 
of  the  numerous  faro  games.  Every  table  was 
crowded  with  players  and  surrounded  by 
spectators,  some  of  whom,  like  myself,  were 
mere  curiosity  seekers,  but  most  of  them  being 
devotees  of  the  shrine  of  the  goddess,  Chance, 
who  were  impatiently  awaiting  the  occurrence 
of  a  vacancy  at  the  table — ^w^hen  a  bankrupt 
player  should  make  way  for  fatter  victims. 

Sitting  just  opposite  the  dealer  was  a  young 
lad,  who  could  not  have  been  more  than  seven- 
teen years  of  age,  betting  away  with  a  reckless- 
ness that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  milhon- 
aire.  The  youngster  was  evidently  flushed 
with  liquor  and  laboring  under  the  highest  de- 
gree of  excitement. 

Standing  just  behind  the  boy,  was  a  woman 


10  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

—evidently  of  the  under  world— who,  it  was 
easy  to  see,  was  influencing  his  betting.  Wheth- 
er this  creature  was  giving  direct  advice  and 
encouragement  or  not,  I  cannot  say,  but  the  lad 
was  certainly  trying  to  appear  as  brave  and  reck- 
lessly extravagant  as  possible,  for  the  apparent 
purpose  of  impressing  the  wom^an.  The  furtive 
glance  which  the  dealer  exchanged  with  his 
charming  ''capper"  now  and  then,  was  sufficient 
to  enable  even  one  of  my  Hmited  experience,  to 
form  a  correct  conclusion  as  to  the  status  of 
affairs. 

Just  opposite  me  and  almost  directly  behind 
the  dealer,  stood  a  man  who,  I  was  certain,  had 
been  studjdng  my  face  from  time  to  time  ever 
since  I  had  taken  my  place  among  the  specta- 
tors of  the  game.  A  stealthy  glance  at  my 
vis  a  vis  when  he  happened  to  be  watching  the 
boy's  playing — ^which  seemed  to  be  dividing 
his  attention  with  myself — revealed  a  person 
of  most  striking  appearance  and  unique  indi- 
viduality. 

Apparently  about  twenty-five  years  of  age, 
judging  by  his  heavy  black  moustache  and 
mature  development;  a  tall,  athletic  figure; 
long  curHng  locks  of  jet  black  hair  hanging 
loosely  down  over  his  shoulders;  eyes  as  black 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  11 

as  sloes  and  as  piercing  as  those  of  a  hawk — 
the  stranger  was  indeed  a  handsome  and  most 
picturesque  character.  His  closely  buttoned 
coat  of  fashionable  cut,  small,  neat  boots,  and 
surmounting  all,  his  broad-brimmed  hat,  made 
him  even  more  striking,  if  possible.  I  glanced  at 
his  hands  and  noted  that  they  were  well  formed, 
and  of  a  color  that  indicated  both  gentility 
and  a  life  in  which  manual  labor  bore  no  part. 

As  I  stole  a  second  glance  at  the  handsome 
stranger,  our  eyes  met,  and  I  fancied  that  he 
started  slightly.  He  glanced  away  quickly, 
but  as  the  boy  in  whom  he  appeared  to  take 
such  an  interest  was  apparently  getting  pretty 
near  the  end  of  his  funds,  I  concluded  that  the 
unknown's  emotion — if  indeed  he  had  really 
displayed  any — ^was  due  to  the  evident  bad 
luck  of  his  unconscious  'protege.  It  was  plain 
to  me  that  he  was  interested  in  the  boy,  for  there 
was  an  expression  about  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  and  an  almost  tender  gleam  in  his  eyes, 
that  could  not  be  mistaken  by  any  one  who  pos- 
sessed even  a  fair  ability  in  character  reading. 

I  knew  not  why  the  picturesque  stranger 
interested  me,  but  there  seemed  to  be  some 
indefinable  attraction  about  him,  which  caused 
me  to  forget  the  game  and  watch  him  as  closely 


12  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

as  I  could  without  risk  of  giving  offense.  As 
our  eyes  met,  I  experienced  a  peculiar  sense  of 
mutual  recognition,  and  yet  it  was  seemingly 
impossible,  or  at  least,  highly  improbable,  that 
we  had  ever  met  before. 

But  the  occurrences  of  the  next  few  minutes 
entirely  diverted  my  mind  for  the  time  being 
from  the  question  of  recognition. 

The  poor,  foohsh  boy  soon  exhausted  his 
money,  and  vacated  his  place  at  the  unholy 
altar.  I  saw  him  whisper  to  the  female,  in 
whose  company  he  evidently  was,  and  appar- 
ently request  her  to  step  aside  with  him.  She 
did  so,  and  they  stood  for  some  time  in  earnest, 
confidential  discussion  of  a  subject  which  their 
gestures  made  all  too  apparent.  The  bird  was 
plucked,  his  charms  were  gone,  and  he  was  not 
only  refused  a  ''stake"  wherewith  to  possibly 
retrieve  his  losses,  but  the  Hght  of  his  first 
romance  was  extinguished  forever — or  until  he 
had  procured  more  money,  which,  to  the 
woman's  mind,  probably  amounted  to  the 
same  thing. 

The  expression  on  that  poor  boy's  face  was 
a  horror  and  a  sermon  both  in  one.  As  the 
woman  coldly  and  haughtily  swept  away  from 
him,  her  tainted  skirts  swishing  suggestively 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  13 

and  ominously  over  the  floor,  gathering  up 
tobacco  and  other  filth  which  was  purity  itself 
beside  her  harpy-like  soul,  the  lad  stood  gazing 
after  her  as  if  in  a  dream.  He  was  stunned 
into  obliviousness  to  everything  but  the  reali- 
zation of  his  disaster. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  as  though  incap- 
able of  motion,  then  with  an  expression  of 
desperation  in  his  eyes,  and  a  countenance 
that  was  the  typification  of  utterly  hopeless 
despair,  he  passed  through  the  green  baize 
doors  out  into  the  night — his  first  black  night 
of  fathomless  woe  and  absolute  demorahza- 
tion. 

I  had  watched  the  boy  from  the  time  we 
left  the  table,  and  his  expression,  as  the  hawk 
that  had  plucked  away  his  youthful  plumage 
flew  away  from  her  victim,  at  once  appealed  to 
my  young  professional  eye.  I  made  my  diag- 
nosis almost  intuitively,  and  instinctively  start- 
ed to  follow  the  lad,  as  quickly  as  I  could  with- 
out attracting  his  attention.  As  I  turned 
toward  the  exit,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  some  one 
just  passing  out.  As  the  doors  swung  back  be- 
fore him,  I  recognized  the  stalwart  form  of 
the  picturesque  unknown. 

I  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  strolled  leisure- 


14  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

ly  along  after  the  stranger.  I  do  not  know 
why,  but  I  felt  that  the  boy  was  safe.  I  was 
sure  I  could  not  be  mistaken  in  my  interpreta- 
tion of  the  play  of  emotions  that  had  animated 
the  stranger's  face,  as  he  watched  the  game 
which  had  ruined  the  poor  lad  whom  he  was 
evidently  following. 

I  soon  saw  that  I  was  right.  The  stranger 
caught  up  with  the  boy  just  as  he  stepped  into 
the  brilhant  hght  that  illuminated  the  side- 
walk in  front  of  the  gambling  den.  Placing  one 
hand  upon  the  boy's  shoulder,  he  gently  but 
firmly  halted  him,  I  meanwhile  drawing  back 
into  the  shadow  of  the  outer  door  of  the  Palace, 
determined,  with  the  best  of  motives,  to  see 
the  thing  through. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  my  lad,"  said  the  man, 
**I  just  want  to  say  a  word  to  you,  that's  all." 

The  boy  looked  at  him  as  though  dazed  for 
a  moment,  and  then  rephed  slowly : 

''I'm  not  frightened,  sir.  You're  not  apt  to 
do  anything  worse  to  me  than  I've  already  done 
to  myself.  My  money  is  all  gone,  and  j'ou  can't 
do  any  more  than  kill  me,  if  you  don't  want 
money.  As  for  kiUing  me, — ^well,  I  have  more 
lead  than  gold  left,  and  I've  not  forgotten  how 
my  father  taught  me  to  die,  hke  a  gentleman." 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  15 

I  fancied  that  the  boy  looked  quite  the  hero 
as  he  spoke.  There  was  a  Httle  touch  of  the 
southron  born  about  him  that  brought  my 
Kentucky  home  back  to  me.  I  had  seen  such 
boys  there,  and  I  knew — ^well,  there  was  one 
who  was  something  hke  that,  whom  I  would 
have  given  the  world  to  see,  and  my  heart  went 
out  to  that  poor,  unfortunate  lad.  And,  yet, 
for  some  reason,  I  had  an  even  kinder  feeling 
for  the  man  who  was  evidently  going  to  act 
the  friend  and  adviser  of  our  mutual  protege. 

'Tardon  me  for  even  suggesting  that  you 
might  be  frightened,"  said  the  unknown,  ''but 
you  are  young;  San  Francisco  has  some  queer 
ways  and  still  queerer  people,  and  it's  not 
every  man  who  gets  the  drop  on  you  who  means 
well.  I  am  free  to  say  that  I  should  be  uneasy 
myself,  were  I  to  be  similarly  accosted,  and 
they  say  I  am — ^well,  that  I'm  'no  chicken', 
you  know.  Where  are  you  from,  my  boy?" 

"I'm  from  Virginia,  sir,"  replied  the  boy, 
straightening  up  with  a  little  of  the  Old  Domin- 
ion pride,  I  thought. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  his  new-found  friend,  "I 
was  sure  I  detected  a  httle  of  the  old  cavalier 
strain  in  your  face.  What  is  your  name,  may 
I  ask?" 


16  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

"Gordon  Cabell,  sir." 

"Well,  Master  Cabell,  I  know  your  breed 
pretty  well;  I'm  from — ^well,  I've  met  southern 
boys  before.  Now,  I'm  going  to  talk  plainly 
to  you,  and  you  mustn't  be  offended.  I'm 
going  to  be  your  friend,  for  to-night,  at  least, 
and  you  must  listen  to  me. 

"I'm  not  going  to  give  you  a  moral  lecture 
on  gambling  or  liquor  drinking.  I  presume  that 
the  Gordons,  Cabells,  and  many  more  of  your 
ancestors,  have  played  cards,  drunk  whisky, 
raced  horses,  attended  cock  fights,  and  fought 
duels,  and  have  done  many  other  things  that 
people  with  colder  blood  object  to,  but  they  did 
aU  these  things  like  gentlemen,  I'll  warrant 
you.  Now,  tell  me,  yoimg  fellow,  did  you  ever 
know  of  a  Cabell  doing  what  you  have  done, 
and  still  worse,  what  you  were  going  to  do 
to-night?" 

"Sir!"  said  the  boy  indignantly,  reaching 
toward  his  pistol,  "I  will — " 

"Oh,  no  you  won't.  Master  Cabell.  Look  me 
in  the  eye,  please!"  and  the  boy  gazed  at  the 
stranger  wonderingly,  as  he  drew  his  tall  form 
up  to  its  full  height,  calmly  folded  his  arms,  and 
looked  down  upon  him. 

"I  have  already  told  j^ou  that  I  am  your  friend, 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  17 

Gordon,  and  the  Cabells  do  not  make  targets 
of  their  friends.     Give  me  your  pistol,  sir!" 

The  boy  almost  mechanically  drew  his  pistol 
from  the  holster  beneath  his  loose-fitting  coat, 
and  obeying  the  mandate  of  a  will  more  power- 
ful than  his  own,  handed  it  to  his  companion. 

''Thank  you,  Gordon,"  said  the  stranger, 
"I'll  return  it  to  you  presently. 

"Now,  my  boy,  let  us  get  to  business.  You 
have  fallen  among  thieves,  and  have  been 
plucked,  hke  the  unsuspecting,  foohsh  pigeon 
that  you  are.  I  don't  want  to  know  your 
past  history;  life  is  too  short,  but  I  do  want 
a  hand  in  your  future. 

"You  are  the  scion  of  aristocratic  stock. 
Your  ancestors  before  you  were  worshippers 
at  the  shrine  of  beauty,  but  it  was  the  beauty 
of  purity  and  virtue.  You  have  been  dragging 
your  family  pride  down  into  the  dirt,  and  offer- 
ing up  your  young  soul  upon  an  altar  which 
a  true  son  of  the  Old  Dominion  should  loathe. 
You  have  squandered  your  money  trying  to 
beat  a  game  that's  a  'dead-open-and-shut' 
against  you.  You  are  listening  to  one  who 
knows  whereof  he  speaks,  I  assure  you,  my  boy. 

"Not  satisfied  with  what  you  had  already 
done,  which  after  all  is  easily  remedied,  you 


18  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

were  about  to  stain  your  family  name  and 
record  with  a  crime  that  nothing  on  earth 
could  ever  wipe  out.  You  were  about  to  kill — 
a  fool,  Gordon,  who  may  yet  be  made  a  wise 
man. 

''I  once  knew  a  boy  who  played  the  fool — 
much  as  you  have  done — and  who  is  still  ex- 
piating his  folly.  He  might  eventually  have 
done  as  you  were  about  to  do,  only  he  happened 
to  be  compelled  to — well,  he  didn't  shoot  him- 
self, that's  one  thing  to  his  credit,  although  his 
family,  and  not  himself,  was  perhaps  the  gain- 
er by  it,  or  will  be  sometime,  if  the  truth  is 
ever  known.  He  couldn't  avoid  the  other- 
there  was  nothing  about  that  of  which  he  had 
cause  to  be  ashamed,  although  the  world,  that 
knows  not  the  circumstances,  thinks  differently. 

"Now,  Gordon,  I'm  going  to  stake  you. 
Don't  say  no — it  is  a  loan  if  you  please,  or  any- 
thing you  choose  to  call  it.  Take  this,  and  get 
out  of  this  hell-hole  of  a  town  as  quick  as  the 
Lord  will  let  you." 

The  boy  stood  for  a  moment  with  the 
tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks,  and  then 
hesitatingly  took  the  proffered    bag  of  dust. 

''And  you  will  really  let  me  pay  it  back 
to  you,  sir,  when  I  am  able?" 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLE]MAN  19 

"I  certainly  will,  if  we  ever  meet  again, 
replied  the  man.  ''As  I  have  already  told  you, 
cay  boy,  I  know  your  breed;  it  is  not  the  kind 
that  hkes  to  remain  under  obligations  to  one 
who  is  an  entke  stranger.  But,  after  all, 
your  honorable  intention  clears  the  obhgation. 

''And,  Gordon,  here's  your  pistol.  I  think 
it  will  be  safer  in  your  hands  than  it  was  a 
short  time  ago.  And  now  I  am  going  to  give 
you  a  few  parting  words  of  advice. 

"In  the  first  place,  young  fellow,  don't  gam- 
ble. If  your  blood  is  too  red  to  heed  this  ad- 
monition, learn  to  play  poker.  It's  a  scientif- 
ic game  and  a  square  one,  usually — always  so 
among  gentlemen.  Never  bet  against  another 
man's  game,  nor  play  against  a  percentage. 
Gambling  games  of  that  kind  are  Hke  the 
play  of  life,  the  percentage  is  in  favor  of  the 
dealer,  and  it  fetches  you  sooner  or  later. 

"In  the  second  place,  young  man,  set  up  a 
shrine  in  your  heart,  and  worship  female  purity 
and  virtue;  then  you  are  safe.  If  you  have  a 
mother  or  sisters,  don't  forget  that  a  woman 
who  is  not  fit  for  their  society  is  not  worthy  of 
your  regard. 

"Youthful  affection,  my  boy,  is  not  inex- 
haustible.   Keep  it  for  future  reference — and 


20  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

worthy  objects.  You  may  yet  live  to  wish 
that  the  worldly  heart  of  to-morrow  were  the 
young  and  fresh  one  of  yesterday. 

"And  now,  I  must  leave  you.  Good-night, 
my  boy,  and  don't  forget  what  I  have  said  to 
you." 

''But,  sir,"  cried  the  lad,  ''your  name,  who 
shall  I—?" 

His  benefactor  had  disappeared  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

The  boy  stood  for  a  time  gazing  blankly 
into  the  night  in  the  direction  in  which  the 
stranger  had  disappeared;  then,  drawing 
himself  up  proudly,  as  became  a  son  of  fair 
Virginia,  he  placed  the  bag  of  gold  in  his  pocket 
and  his  pistol  in  its  holster,  cast  a  scornful 
glance  toward  the  windows  of  the  Palace  and 
strode  resolutely  away. 

A  few  days  after  the  scene  at  the  gaming 
house,  I  chanced  to  meet  an  old  time  friend 
of  my  father's,  hailing  from  Maine.  Mr.  Allen, 
it  seemed,  had  "struck  it  rich"  and  was  on  his 
way  back  to  the  "States."  From  this  gentle- 
man I  received  a  glowing  account  of  the  wealth 
of  the  placer  mining  region  in  Tuolunme  county, 
which  at  once  determined  my  future  course. 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  21 

When  he  informed  me  that  the  country  where 
he  had  made  his  "pile"  was  not  only  rich  in 
gold,  but  badly  in  need  of  doctors,  I  decided 
that  Tuolumne  should  have  at  least  one  medi- 
cal celebrity. 

Investing  some  of  my  greatly  diminished 
capital  in  an  outfit  which  I  thought  might  har- 
monize to  a  certain  extent  with  the  new  field 
for  which  I  was  about  to  depart,  I  bade  fare- 
well to  San  Francisco  and  set  my  face  toward 
the  fame  and  the  pot  of  gold  that  lay  at  the 
foot  of  the  rainbow  of  my  dreams. 

It  was  a  calm  sultry  evening  in  the  month 
of  July,  1860,  that  I  embarked  on  board  a 
steamboat  plying  between  San  Francisco  and 
Stockton,  the  latter  city  being  the  gateway 
to  the  wonderful  country  distinguished  by  its 
wealth  and  scarcit}^  of  doctors,  so  graphically 
described  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Allen. 

The  trip  up  the  Sacramento  river,  although 
pleasant  enough,  had  very  little  novelty  about 
it,  and  I  confess  that  I  at  first  experienced  a 
feeling  of  disappointment  at  the  lack  of  en- 
tertainment which  the  scenery  afforded. 

Our  route  lay  for  a  comparatively  short  dis- 


22  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

tance  up  the  Sacramento,  the  major  portion  of 
my  journey  being  comprised  by  one  of  its 
tributaries — the  San  Joaquin — a  stream  that 
is  insignificant  enough  during  the  dry  season, 
but  which  in  the  early  spring  is  formidable 
enough  to  those  who  Uve  sufficiently  near  the 
river  to  get  the  benefit  of  its  overflow  during 
the  spring  freshets. 

The  San  Joaquin  river  is,  without  doubt,  the 
crookedest  navigable  stream  in  the  world.  There 
was  never  a  snake  that  could  contort  himself 
into  so  fantastic  an  outline  as  presented  by 
that  lazily  meandering  branch  of  the  Sacra- 
mento. So  crooked  is  it,  that  one  entertains  a 
constant  dread  of  running  ashore;  the  bank 
is  always  dead  ahead  and  unpleasantly  near. 

This  serpentine  river  traverses  a  perfectly 
level  plain  throughout  the  navigable  part  of 
its  course,  its  banks  being  flanked  by  tule  beds 
which  extend  farther  than  the  eye  can  see.  In- 
deed, the  valley  of  the  San  Joaquin  is  one  vast 
bed  of  tules,  extending  fulty  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles.  When,  as  sometimes  happens  during 
the  dry  season,  the  tule  beds  take  fire,  the  spec- 
tacle, especially  at  night,  is  at  once  grand  and 
terribly  impressive.  I  remember  on  one  occa- 
sion taking  a  night  trip  up  the  river  during  one 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  23 

of  these  fires.  The  scene  in  the  vicinity  of 
Monte  Diablo,  was  one  of  the  most  majestic 
and  awe  inspiring  I  have  ever  witnessed.  The 
name  of  ''Devil's  Mountain"  seemed  singularly 
appropriate 

It  was  nearly  three  in  the  morning  when  I 
arrived  at  Stockton,  and,  as  there  was  nothing 
to  be  gained  by  going  ashore,  I  remained  on 
board  the  boat,  determined  to  get  the  full 
benefit  of  a  morning  nap.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
I  had  just  closed  my  eyes,  when  I  was  awakened 
by  the  yelling  of  the  roustabouts  and  stage 
agents  on  the  wharf.  I  had  barely  time  to  dress, 
hustle  ashore  and  hurriedly  swallow  a  cup  of 
coffee,  before  my  stage  was  ready  to  start,  and 
I  was  off  for  Jacksonville — the  jparticular  town 
of  Tuolumne  county  that  I  had  determined  to 
favor  with  my  medical  skill  and  fortune-hunt- 
ing ambition. 

There  was  nothing  pleasant  about  that  stage 
ride — it  was  memorable  only  for  its  inconven- 
iences and  its  motley  load  of  passengers.  A 
hot,  dusty,  bumping  journey  in  the  old  time 
California  stage  makes  pretty  reading  as  Bret 
Harte  has  described  it  but  I  am  free  to  say  that 
the  reality  was  not  so  enjoyable.  The  red  dust 
of  the  California  stage  road  gets  into  a  fellow's 


24  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

system  so  deeply  that  his  ideas  are  likely  to  be 
of  a  practical  or  even  profane  sort,  even  though 
he  be  normally  quite  sentimental. 

Picturesque,  however,  the  ride  certainly  was. 
Several  red-shirted,  rough-bearded  miners,  lent 
just  the  right  touch  of  local  color,  while  the 
imitation  frontiersman — of  whom  I  was  the 
type — ^was  sufficiently  well  represented  to  afford 
a  suitable  foil  for  the  genuine  article,  as  typified 
by  my  brawny-chested,  be-pistoled,  unkempt 
fellow  passengers. 

In  one  corner  of  the  stage  was  a  little  chap 
who  was  evidently  what  we  would  call  a  dude 
nowadays.  This  young  gentleman  had  done  his 
level  best  to  put  a  bold  front  on  matters,  by 
rigging  himself  out  like  a  cowboy.  The  result 
was  somewhat  ludicrous,  as  may  be  imagined. 
Nor  was  the  poor  little  idiot  by  any  means  un- 
conscious of  his  features  of  incongruity — he 
realized  most  keenly  the  absurdity  of  his  posi- 
tion and  the  fact  that  he  was  being  guyed.  The 
miners,  however,  seemed  to  enjoy  the  situation 
immensely. 

"Say,  pardner,"  said  one  tawny-bearded 
giant,  leaning  toward  the  innocent,  and  start- 
ling him  so  that  his  eye  glasses  nearly  dropped 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  25 

off  his  nose — ''Gimme  a  pull  at  yer  pistol,  wont 
ye?" 

"Ah,  beg  pawdon,  sir,  what  did  you  say?" 
stammered  the  dude. 

"W'y  I  s'posed  you  could  understan'  th' 
English  langwidge,"  replied  the  miner,  ''but 
seein'  ez  how  ye  don't,  I'll  translate  her  to  ye. 
I  asked  ye  ter  give  me  a  pull  at  yer  whisky 
bottle." 

"Ah,  really,"  said  the  innocent,  "I'd  be 
chawmed,  you  know,  doncher  know,  but  I 
don't  carry  the  article.  In  fact,  sir,  I  nevah 
drink." 

"Ye  don't  say  so?  Well,  I  want  ter  know!" 
answered  the  miner.  "Now,  see  hyar,  sonny, 
seein'  ez  how  you  aint  got  no  whisky,  jest 
gimme  a  chaw  uv  terbacker  an'  we'll  call  it 
squar'." 

"I — aw — I'm  sorry  to  say  that  I  don't  use 
tobacco,  sir." 

"Sho!  g'long,  young  feller!  Is — that — so? 
How  the  h — 1  d'ye  keep  a  goin'?  Whut  d'ye  do 
fer  excitement — p'raps  ye  plays  poker,  eh?" 
said  the  stalwart  son  of  the  pick. 

"Oh  no!"  exclaimed  the  tenderfoot  in  dismay, 
"I  nevah  play  cards!" 

"Ye  don't  tell  me!"  replied  the  miner.  "Well, 


26  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

well,  well!  By  the  way,  young  feller;  be  keerful 
not  ter  lose  'em— ye  mout  need  'em  ter  git 
home  with." 

"Need  what,  sir?"  asked  the  victim. 

"Yer  wings!" — and  the  miners  broke  out  in 
a  huge  guffaw  that  bade  fair  to  dislocate  a 
wheel  of  the  stage,  and  impelled  the  driver  to 
look  anxiously  and  inquiringly  at  his  passen- 
gers. 

The  tenderfoot  collapsed  and  remained  in 
a  state  of  complete  innocuousness  until  he 
arrived  at  his  destination,  which,  fortunately 
for  his  sensitive  organization,  happened  to  be 
the  first  town  where  we  changed  horses.  As  he 
minced  gingerly  away  toward  the  hotel,  the 
miners  winked  at  each  other  most  prodigiously. 
Happening  to  catch  the  big  fellow's  eye,  by  a 
happy  inspiration  I  was  impelled  to  wink  also. 
This  at  once  established  me  on  a  friendly  foot- 
ing with  my  rough  companions,  and,  as  I 
happened  to  have  a  bottle  of  fairly  good  Uquor 
with  me,  the  rest  of  the  way  into  the  regard  of 
those  simple  miners  was  easily  traversed. 

During  the  conversation  that  naturally  fol- 
lowed the  unconventional  formation  of  our  ac- 
quaintance, the  big-bearded  fellow,  who  appear- 
ed to  be  the  leader  of  the  little  party  of  miners, 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  27 

following  the  blunt  fashion  of  the  country, 
suddenly  remarked: 

''By  the  way,  stranger,  whut  might  yer  name 
be,  an'  whut  part  uv  the  diggin's  might  yer  be 
headin'  fer?" 

''Well,"  I  rephed  smilingly,  "it  is  about  time 
we  introduced  ourselves,  isn't  it?  My  name  is 
William  Weymouth,  recently  of  Kentucky,  a 
doctor  by  profession,  and  bound  for  Jackson- 
ville, where  I  contemplate  digging  gold  when 
the  weather  will  permit,  and  practicing  medi- 
cine when  it  will  not." 

"A  doctor,  an'  bound  fer  Jacksonville,  eh? 
Well,  Doc,"  said  my  new  acquaintance,  reach- 
ing out  his  grimy  paw  with  a  cordiahty  that 
could  not  be  mistaken,  "I'm  d — d  glad  ter  know 
ye !  Jacksonville  is  our  town,  an'  a  h — 1  uv  a 
good  town  she  is  at  that,  y'u  bet!  We're  jest 
gittin'  back  from  Frisco,  an'  doin'  it  on  tick,  too. 
We've  been  doin'  the  sport  racket  down  yonder, 
an'  I  reckon  the  sports  hev  done  us,  eh,  pards?" 
His  "pards"  having  acquiesced,  my  brawny 
friend  cut  off  a  huge  chew  of  "nigger  heel," 
stowed  it  away  in  his  capacious  cheek,  and  after 
a  few  preUminary  expectorations  that  resembled 
geysers,  continued: 

"If  it  hadn't  been  fer  ole  Tom  McDougal 


28  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

up  thar  on  the  box,  we'd  a  took  Walker's  line 
back  ter  our  claims" — and  the  big  miner 
glanced  gratefully  in  the  direction  of  the  gener- 
ous Mr.  McDougal. 

"And  now  that  I  have  found  that  you  are 
to  be  my  fellow-townsmen,"  I  said  pleasantly, 
"permit  me  to  remind  you  that  the  introduc- 
tion has  been  one-sided.  What  are  your  names, 
may  I  ask?" 

The  miner  winked  at  his  companions,  laugh- 
ed a  little  deep  down  in  his  huge  red  beard,  and 
repHed : 

"D — d  if  I  didn't  fergit  that  ther  was  two 
sides  to  the  interdoocin'  bizness.  Ye  see,  stran- 
ger, we  aint  payin'  much  attention  ter  feller's 
handles  in  the  mines.  Most  enny  ole  thing  '11 
do  fer  a  name.  That's  why  we  sometimes 
fergits  our  manners.  This  yere  gang  is  purty 
well  supplied  with  names,  but  ye  mightn't  hev 
sich  good  luck  ev'ry  time,  'specially  in  Tuolumne 
county,  eh,  pards?" 

His  "pards"  having  again  nodded  and  winked 
their  approval,  my  brawny  friend  proceeded 
with  his  introductions. 

"I'm  called  in  the  diggin's  by  sev'ral  names 
an'  y'u  kin  do  like  the  rest  uv  my  frien's — take 
yer  -pick.     I'm  mostly  known  as  Big  Brown, 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  29 

tho*  some  folks  calls  me  Big  Sandy.  When 
I  was  in  the  states,  I  b'lieve  they  used  to  call 
me  Daniel  W.  Brown,  but  I  wouldn't  swar  to  it. 
This  feller  nex'  ter  me  hyar,  is  the  hon'able 
Mr.  Dixie,'  or  Snub-nose  Dixie  fer  short,  who 
aint  never  hed  much  ter  say  about  his  other 
name,  if  he  ever  had  enny,  eh,  Dixie?  That 
Ian  tern- jawed  cuss  a  settin'  long  side  uv  y'u, 
is  Deacon  Jersey,  utherwise  an'  more  favor'bly 
known  ez  Link  Spears.  We  calls  him  Deacon, 
cuz  he  never  was  inside  of  a  church  in  his  hull 
life.  He's  the  only  genooine  deacon  this  side 
of  the  Sierras.  Thar  aint  none  uv  the  hyper- 
crit'  erbout  him,  neither,  I  kin  tell  ye.  Ye'U 
find  us  fellers'  tastes  kinder  runs  erhke,  f'r 
instance," — and  Big  Brown  looked  longingly  in 
the  direction  of  my  ''pistol"  pocket. 

"In  the  matter  of  thirst,"  I  suggested. 

"Right  y'u  air.  Doc!  I  kin  see  yer  goin  ter 
be  a  valooable  addition  to  our  diggings .  We 
need  a  doctor  ez  kin  tell  whut's  the  matter 
with  a  feller  'thout  cuttin'  him  wide  open. 
Ye  see,  we  likes  ter  keep  our  own  ban's  in, 
an'  don't  calkerlate  ter  leave  much  of  the 
cuttin'  ter  the  doctor — ennyhow,  'till  we've 
had  our  Uttle  innin's,  eh,  boys?" 

Once  again  the  boys  agreed,  with,  I  thought, 


30  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

just  a  slight  suspicion  of  gratified  vanity  in 
their  expressions. 

It  was  a  long  weary  way  to  Jacksonville, 
but  my  time  was  well  spent.  Thanks  to  the 
kindness  and  garruhty  of  my  new-found  yet 
none  the  less  sincere,  friends,  and  the  confi- 
dence engendered  by  my  rapidly  diminishing 
supply  of  stimulants,  I  found  myself,  by  the 
time  I  arrived  at  my  destination,  fairly  well 
acquainted  with  the  town,  its  ways  and  its  citi- 
zens. 

Jacksonville,  at  the  time  I  landed  in  the  then 
thriving  place,  was  one  of  the  most  noted  min- 
ing centers  in  the  placer  country.  Its  location 
was  most  picturesque.  Nestled  among  the 
foot-hills  of  the  glorious  Sierras  on  the  banks 
of  the  Tuolumne  river,  and  peopled  by  as  cos- 
mopoUtan  and  heterogeneous  a  population  as 
was  ever  gathered  within  the  confines  of  one 
small  town,  my  new  home  was  attractive  be- 
cause of  its  novelty,  if  nothing  more. 

Ages  and  ages  of  alternately  falling  and 
receding  waters,  centuries  of  snow  and  enor- 
mous rainfalls,  had  washed  down  from  the 
mountains  into  the  valley  of  the  Tuolumne, 
those  auriferous  particles,  the  great  abun- 
dance of  which  had  made  Jacksonville  spring 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN.  31 

into  busy  life  and  thriving  prosperity,  almost 
in  a  single  day. 

But  the  very  elements  which  had  laid  the 
alluring  foundation  of  the  valley's  wealth,  were 
even  then  conspiring  to  avenge  the  rifling  of 
the  rich  deposits  of  the  valley  by  the  irreverent 
hands  of  the  modern  Argonauts. 

The  Tuolumne  river  was  a  variable  stream. 
During  the  dry  season,  it  was  but  a  thin,  dis- 
jointed, silvery  ribbon,  across  w^hich  one  could 
walk  dry-shod,  in  places.  But  in  the  early 
spring,  the  little  stream  at  which  the  wayfarer 
was  wont  to  laugh,  and  in  whose  bed  the  eager 
miner  delved  with  impunity  and  profit,  took 
revenge  upon  the  disturbers  of  its  ancient 
course.  It  became  a  raging  torrent,  resistlessly 
carrying  all  before  it  and  sometimes  severely 
punishing  for  his  temerity  the  unwary  miner 
who  had  pitched  his  tent  or  built  his  rude  cab- 
in too  near  the  river  bank.  But  all  the  revenge 
which  the  Tuolumne  had  taken  in  all  the  years 
since  the  settlement  of  the  valley,  was  as  noth- 
ing to  that  which  was  yet  to  come.  That  vale 
of  thrift,  industry  and  smiling  prosperity  was 
destined  to  become  a  valley  of  death,  destruc- 
tion, desolation  and  ruin. 

But   were   not    Pompeii  and  Herculaneum, 


32  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN. 

and  in  later  days,  our  own  San  Fra  ncisco, 
joyful  and  unsuspecting  to  the  last?  And 
why  should  the  people  of  Tuolunme  dread  a 
danger  of  which  familiarity  and  fancied  se- 
curity had  made  them  forgetful,  or  possibly 
even  contemptuous.  The  average  citizen  of 
Jacksonville  could  calmly  face  death  in  a  ma- 
terial form,  and  why  should  he  concern  him- 
self with  that  which  passed  by  upon  the  other 
side  with  each  succeeding  spring? 

By  no  means  the  least  attractive  feature 
of  Jacksonville  was  the  rugged  self-confidence 
and  honesty  of  the  majority  of  its  people.  Even 
the  Chinese,  who  composed  a  large  part  of  the 
population,  seemed  to  be  a  better  variety  of 
the  almond-eyed  heathen  than  I  had  supposed 
could  possibly  exist.  The  hair-triggered  sen- 
sibility and  powder-and-ball  ethics  of  the  dom- 
inant race  seemed  to  be  most  effective  civ- 
ilizers. 

I  am  far  from  claiming  that  Jacksonville 
presented  an  ideal  state  of  civilization,  but 
this  I  do  say,  in  justice  to  my  old  town;  Hfe 
and  property  were  safer  there  than  they  are 
to-day  in  many  more  pretentious  communities, 
that  claim  to  rank  as  centers  from  which  civ- 
iUzation  radiates  like   the  rays  of  a  star.    A 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  33 

sense  of  personal  responsibility  made  the  French 
the  politest  nation  on  the  face  of  the  earth; 
it  was  the  foundation  upon  which  the  spirit 
of  the  "Old  South"  was  builded  firmer  than 
a  rock;  it  was  the  soul  that  beat  back  the 
furious  weaves  of  shot  and  shell  that  so  often 
hailed  upon  the  southern  chivalry  on  many 
a  hard  fought  field.  A  similar  spirit  of  seK- 
assertion  and  personal  responsibiUty  pervaded 
the  Tuolumne  valley,  and  raised  its  average 
moral  standard  to  a  height  far  beyond  that  of 
many  a  metropolis  of  a  more  vicious  and  effete 
civilization. 

Warm-hearted,  impulsive,  honest,  courageous, 
fiery-tempered,  quick-triggered  Argonauts  of  the 
Tuolumne  valley — a  health  to  those  of  you  who 
still  live,  and  peace  to  those  who  have  laid 
down  the  pick  and  pan  forever  and  have  in- 
spected their  sluice-boxes  for  the  last  time! 
When  the  final  ''clean-up"  comes,  may  the 
"find"  be  full  of  nuggets — "sixteen  dollars  to 
the  ounce." 

There  was  no  better  opportunity^  of  becom- 
ing intimately  acquainted  with  the  town  of 
Jackson\dlle,  its  people  and  its  customs,  than 
was  afforded  bj^  the  Tuolumne  House,  where  I 
made  my  headquarters.    There  may  be  better 


34  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

hotels  in  the  world  than  that  primitive  one, 
but  it  had  outgrown  its  canvas  period  and  had 
become  a  pretentious  frame  structure,  and  this 
fact  alone  made  it  famous.  It  had  no  rival,  for 
the  old  ''Empire,"  so  long  presided  over  by 
that  honest,  sturdy  old  Scot,  Rob  McCoun,  had 
long  since  been  converted  into  a  Chinese 
grocery,  while  its  erstwhile  owner  had  been  dead 
for  several  years.  As  for  the  only  other  hotel, 
McGinnis,  its  proprietor,  had  never  been  in  the 
race  since  his  cook,  one  unlucky  day,  brewed 
the  coffee  and  tea  simultaneously  in  the  same 
pot.  The  hundred  and  seventy-odd  boarders 
who  fed  at  McGinnis'  ''festive"  rack  were  not  to 
be  consoled — they  "quit  him  cold"  and  went  over 
to  the  enemy.  Tradition  says  that  "Mac." 
half  killed  the  luckless  cook,  one  Mike  Corcoran, 
"Fer  put  tin'  coffee  in  the  tay  pot,  ther  d — d 
scoundrel!"  but  the  boarders  were  not  to  be 
placated.*  My  fellow  citizens  of  Jacksonville 
were  very  particular,  and  quite  sensitive,  with 
respect  to  the  quality  and  quantity  of  liquids 
that  entered  their  stomachs. 

The  material  comforts  of  the  Tuolumne 
House  aside,  there  was  never  a  cheerier,  heart- 
ier, pluckier  boniface  than  George  Keyse.    He 

*Axin'  Mr.  McGinnis'  pardon — if  he  be  still  living. — Author. 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  35 

was  to  the  manner  born,  and  could  take  a  gun 
or  a  knife  away  from  an  excited  boarder  quite 
as  gracefull}^  and  quickly  as  he  could,  if  neces- 
sary, turn  his  own  flapjacks. 

'Mi.  Keyse  had  an  invaluable  assistant  in 
one  Dave  Smuggins,  who  officiated  alternately 
as  barkeeper,  porter  and  hotel  clerk.  Smuggins 
was  a  well-bred  man,  and,  it  was  said,  was 
originally  educated  for  the  ministry.  The  only 
evidence  at  hand,  however,  was  certain  orator- 
ical propensities  that  overcame  him  and  made 
him  forget  his  real  position  when  he  awakened 
the  boarders  early  o'  mornings.  I  can  hear  him 
now,  as  he  stood  at  the  top  of  the  stairway, 
yelling  in  stantorian  tones — "Arouse  all  ye 
sleepers,  an'  hsten  to  the  purty  Httle  airly 
birds  singin'  praises  tew  the  Lord!  D- — n  yer 
bloody  eyes!  Git  up!"  saying  which  the  modern 
psalmist  discreetly  went  below  and  took  his 
position  behind  the  bar,  ready  to  dispense 
'^eye-openers"  to  the  early  caller. 

Jacksonville  proved  to  be  not  only  a  pleasant 
place  of  residence  but  an  excellent  field  for  my 
professional  work.  The  chmate  was  almost  germ- 
proof,  and  it  was  a  real  pleasure  to  practice  the 
semi-mifitary  surgery  characteristic  of  my  field 
of  labor.    Primary  union  was  my  speciality  in 


36  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

those  days,  and  I  used  to  get  results  the  mem- 
ory of  which  sometimes  makes  me  blush  for 
those  I  occasionally  get  with  our  modern  aseptic 
and  antiseptic  methods.  No  matter  how 
much  my  patients  might  shoot  or  carve  each 
other,  any  fellow  who  had  life  enough  left  in 
him  to  crawl  or  be  carried  off  the  field  of  batr- 
tle,  usually  got  well. 

Beyond  accompanying  an  occasional  prospec- 
ting party,  largely  for  recreation  but  partly  in 
my  professional  capacity,  I  did  but  httle  in  the 
way  of  mining.  My  practice  gave  me  plenty  to 
do,  and  was  lucrative  enough  as  practices  go,  so 
I  soon  settled  down  to  as  routine  a  Hfe  as  my 
curious  and  lively  surroundings  would  permit. 

I  was  sitting  in  that  portion  of  the  Tuolumne 
House  yclept  by  courtesy  ''the  office,"  quite  late 
one  evening,  Hstening  to  the  quaint  talk  of 
my  miner  friends  and  marvelling  on  the  quan- 
tity of  fluid  the  human  body  could  lose  by  way 
of  expectoration  and  still  live,  when  I  was  re- 
called to  a  realization  of  the  fact  that  I  was  a 
practitioner  of  medicine,  by  a  voice  at  the 
hotel  door. 

''Say,  Doc,  kin  I  see  y'u  a  minute?" 
Looking  up  I  saw  standing  in  the  doorway 


POKER  JIM,  GP:NTLEMAN  37 

one  of  the  boys,  who  was  famiharly  known  as 
Toppy,  his  States'  name  being  Ike  Dexter. 
Toppy  motioned  for  me  to  come  out  on  the 
porch,  and  impressed  by  his  gravity  of  manner 
and  earnestness  of  gesticulation,  I  hastened  to 
comply. 

"What  is  it,  Toppy?"  I  asked. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "thar's  one  uv  my  friends 
whut's  bin  an'  got  hisself  hurt,  an'  I  want  y'u 
ter  come  an'  fix  him  up.  He's  a  very  parti' cler 
friend,  an'  I'd  like  ter  hev  yer  do  yer  best  on 
him.  Ye  needn't  say  nuthin'  ter  the  boys 
about  it,  jes'  now.  Doc." 

"Very  well,  Toppy,  I'll  go  with  you,  but 
what  kind  of  an  accident  has  befallen  your 
friend?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  I  dunno  ez  ye  could  jes'  call  it  a  acci- 
dent, Doc.  It's  jest  a  little  shootin'  scrape, 
that's  all,  an'  I  reckon  ye'd  better  take  some 
'stracters  erlong." 

In  accordance  with  the  honest  miner's  sug- 
gestion I  did  take  some  bullet  extractors  with 
me. 

"Ye  see.  Doc,"  said  Toppy,  by  way  of  pre- 
paratory explanation  of  the  case  I  was  about 
to  see,  "this  yere  friend  of  mine  hez  bin  down 
in  'Frisco  fer  a  spell,  an'  might  hev  staid  thar 


38  POKER  JDI,  GENTLEMAN 

a  good  while  longer,  only  some  feller  picked  a 
row  with  him.  Thar  wuz  a  duel,  an'  duels 
ain't  so  pop'lar  down  'Frisco  way  ez  they  useter 
wuz,  'specially  when  somebody  gits  hurt.  A 
real  bad  accident  happened  ter  th'  uther  feller, 
an'  he  passed  in  his  checks.  Jim — that's 
my  friend — ^got  a  ball  in  his  thigh,  whut  stuck 
thar,  and  ez  he  didn't  hev  much  time  to  hunt 
fer  a  doctor,  he  jest  come  up  hyar,  whar  its 
kinder  quiet  hke,  an'  we  thort  we'd  hev  y'u 
sorter  look  arter  the  thing.  Ye  see,  Jim  won't 
keer  to  git  'round  much  fer  a  few  weeks — not 
'till  that  Httle  accident  gits  blowed  over" — 
and  Toppy's  eyes  gleamed  humorously. 

My  friend  led  me  do^\Ti  to  the  river  bank, 
and  pushing  aside  a  clump  of  willows  revealed 
a  small,  rudely  constructed  row-boat. 

"Ah!"  I  said,  as  I  took  my  seat  in  the  some- 
what insecure-looking  and  cranky  httle  craft, 
"It  is  evident  that  you  have  taken  your  friend 
to  your  own  cabin." 

Toppy,  as  I  well  knew,  had  the  only  abode 
on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river,  where, 
high  up  on  the  hill-side,  in  full  though  some- 
what distant  view  of  the  little  toT\TQ,  he  had 
built  a  small  but  neat  cabin,  which  nestled  in 
the  bosom  of  the  hill,  looking  not  unhke  a 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  39 

child's  playhouse  as  seen  from  the  town  proper. 

*'Yep,"  replied  the  miner,  "thar's  whar 
he  is.  It  aint  best  ter  depen'  too  much  on 
popularity,  ye  know.  Doc,  an'  Jim'U  be  a  Httle 
safer  over  thar  than  in  town.  Nobody  goes 
ter  my  place — less'n  I  invite  'em,"  and  Toppy 
grinned  sardonically. 

I  recalled  the  fate  of  a  poor  devil  who  did 
go  to  his  cabin  without  an  invitation — from 
Toppy — in  the  early  days  of  his  housekeeping 
on  the  hillside,  when  a  more  or  less  charming 
Uttle  Mexican  half-breed  damsel  was  said  to 
have  presided  over  Toppy's  domestic  affairs. 

Being  averse  to  the  discussion  of  other  peo- 
ple's family  matters,  I  had  never  conversed 
with  my  miner  friend  on  that  delicate  subject. 
To  tell  the  truth,  there  seemed  to  be  very  little 
encouragement  for  gossip  in  Jacksonville — 
town-talk  was  too  direct  a  cut  to  the  httle  col- 
lection of  white  head-boards  that  decorated  a 
small  plateau  just  outside  the  town.  All  my 
information  on  such  subjects,  was  therefore 
derived  from  more  subtle  and  less  dangerous 
airy  rumor. 

The  river  was  quite  low,  and  a  few  vigorous 
pulls  from  Toppy's  stalwart  arms  brought  us 
to  the  opposite  shore,  from  which  I  could  see, 


40  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

far  up  the  hillside,  the  gleaming  white  walls 
of  the  miner's  rude  little  home,  where  lay  my 
prospective  patient. 

Toppy  was  notoriously  careless  in  his  per- 
sonal grooming,  but  the  little  half-breed  had 
evidently  inspired  a  coat  of  whitewash  for  the 
cabin,  that  endured  longer  than  the  sentiment 
with  which  its  owner  had  inspired  that  swarthy 
little  traitress.  Possibly  that  gleaming  white 
cabin  was  her  monument — ^who  knows?  The 
river  ran  dangerously  and  temptingly  near, 
considering  how  short  a  time  it  takes  to  fall 
a  few  hundred  feet  down  a  steep  and  rocky 
hillside,  and  rumor  whispered  that  Pepita — 
well,  no  one  knew  where  she  was,  and  women 
were  not  so  plentiful  in  the  Tuolumne  valley 
that  hiding  was  easy. 

But  the  Tuolumne  kept  its  secret  well,  if 
secret  there  was.  Its  quick-sands  told  no 
tales.  They  could  hide  the  precious  gold  of 
the  river  bottom;  why  not  a  mouldering  skel- 
eton? 

On  entering  Toppy's  cabin,  completely 
winded  after  my  climb  up  the  hill  that  con- 
stituted his  front  yard,  I  found  my  new  pa- 
tient lying  on  a  cot  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
He  turned  inquiringly  toward  the  door  as  his 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  41 

host  and  I  entered,  and  what  was  my  amaze- 
ment to  see  reflected  in  the  dim  Ught  of  the 
candle  with  which  the  cabin  was  illuminated, 
the  featm-es  of  the  handsome  unknown  of  the 
San  Francisco  gambhng-house,  whose  ad- 
venture with  the  unfortunate  young  south- 
erner I  have  already  related.  The  recogni- 
tion was  evidently  mutual,  but  I  fancied  that 
my  patient  looked  at  me  with  an  expression 
sUghtly  suggestive  of  annoyance. 

Toppy's  introduction  was  laconic,  and  as 
characteristic  as  was  he  himself: 

**Doc,  this  is  Jim — Jim,  this  yer's  Doc  Wey- 
mouth, an'  he's  all  right,  y'u  bet,  'specially  on 
bullets  an'  sich  things." 

I  was  used  to  Cahfornia  customs,  hence  the 
cognomen,  ''Jim"  was  sufficiently  comprehen- 
sive and  perfectly  satisfactory  to  me,  and  after 
the  brief  introduction  that  my  miner  friend 
gave  me,  I  proceeded  to  investigate  the  case. 

As  Toppy  had  already  informed  me  of  the 
circumstances  that  led  to  the  reception  of  my 
patient's  wound,  I  made  no  inquiry  in  that  di- 
rection. I  found  also,  that  Toppy  was  correct 
as  to. the  location  of  the  injury — as  he  had  said, 
the  ball  had  entered  his  friend's  thigh. 

The  wound  had  been  inflicted  several  days 


42  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

before  I  saw  my  patient,  and  would  probably 
have  healed  promptly  enough  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  weary  ride  he  had  taken  immediately 
after  the  shooting — he  had  come  to  Jacksonville 
on  horse  back.  The  result  of  the  necessary 
movement  in  the  saddle,  together  with  the  hot 
sun  and  dust  of  the  roads,  had  been  to  produce 
considerable  inflammation  of  the  injured  part. 
I  presume  that  nowadays  the  surgeon  would 
seek  for  no  other  cause  than  germ  infection  for 
such  a  condition  as  followed  the  wound  which  my 
patient  had  received — but  at  that  time  things 
were  different;  the  various  sources  of  irritation 
to  which  he  had  been  exposed  were  a  reason- 
able explanation  of  the  state  in  which  I  found 
his  wound. 

The  wound  was  merely  muscular,  neither 
important  vessels  nor  bone  having  been  injured, 
and,  much  to  my  gratification,  I  almost  imme- 
diately succeeded  in  finding  and  extracting 
the  ball. 

Jim,  as  I  will  now  call  him,  stood  my  ma- 
nipulations and  the  cutting  necessary  for  the 
extraction  of  the  bullet  without  the  shghtest 
indication  that  such  operations  were  not  an 
every-day  experience  with  him.  This  was  not 
without  its  effect  upon  Toppy,  who  looked  upon 


'JIM   WAS  BOUNDING  TOWARD  THE  OPEN  DOOR, 
LEAVING  HIS  IN'StTLTER  LYING    UPON  THE 
FLOOR    WITH   A  CLEAN   C\T   IN    MIS  CHESt" 


POKER  JBI,  GENTLEMAN  43 

his  heroic  friend  with  all  the  pride  and  tender- 
ness imaginable. 

When  I  was  first  introduced  to  the  w^ounded 
man,  he  had  merely  nodded  his  head  in  greet- 
ing. He  did  not  speak  thereafter,  until  I  had 
finished  dressing  the  wound,  Toppy  meanwhile 
answering  all  necessary  questions.  It  seemed  to 
me,  also,  that  my  patient  rather  avoided  scru- 
tiny of  his  countenance.  He  either  averted  his 
face  or  shaded  it  with  his  hand,  under  the 
pretense  that  the  flickering  light  of  the  candle 
w^hich  Toppy  held  for  me  affected  his  eyes, 
during  the  entire  time  of  m}"  surgical  attention. 

I  gave  this  circumstance  hardly  a  second 
thought;  nothing  seemed  more  natural  than 
that  my  patient  should  desire  to  conceal  any 
little  involuntary  expression  of  suffering  that 
might  have  disturbed  his  features  during  my 
exceedingly  painful  manipulations.  I  w^as  struck, 
however,  by  his  conduct  as  I  was  preparing  to 
leave. 

'^Doctor,"  he  said,  "1  am  very  sorry  that  my 
old  friend,  Toppy,  insisted  upon  calling  you 
to-night.  I  could  have  stood  the  racket  till 
morning,  and  your  rest  was  much  more  impor- 
tant than  my  worthless  existence.  I  appreciate 
your  kindness,  sir,  and  wish  that  I  could  recip- 


44  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

rocate  in  some  more  fitting  manner  than  by 
mere  financial  compensation.  However  that's 
the  best  I  can  do  now;"  saying  which,  my 
patient  reached  beneath  the  rude  mattress  upon 
which  he  was  lying,  drew  out  a  bag  of  gold, 
and  without  further  ceremony  handed  it  to  me. 

''I  wish  it  might  have  been  more,  doctor,"  said 
Jim,  "but  I  came  away  from  'Frisco  in  a  deuce 
of  a  hurry,  and  without  heeling  myself  properly. 
However,  I  have  divided  evenly  with  you,  and 
I  beheve  such  a  rate  of  compensation  is  usually 
considered  fair  by  professional  men,"  and  he 
smiled  somewhat  mischievously,  his  black  eyes 
twinkhng  with  humor. 

My  heart  warmed  toward  my  patient,  I  knew 
not  why.  It  certainly  was  not  because  of  his 
Hberahty,  for  that  was  common  enough  in  that 
rude  mining  town,  where  the  people  were  so 
crude  as  to  believe  that  a  ph5^sician's  services 
should  be  liberally  compensated.  I  kept  no 
books  in  those  days,  my  patients  were  so  wild 
and  imcivilized  that  I  did  not  find  it  necessary. 

"I  will  see  you  again  to-morrow,  sir,"  I  said,  as 
I  nodded  in  recognition  of  the  liberal  fee  that 
my  interesting  patient  had  given  me,  and  ex- 
tended my  hand  to  bid  him  good-morning — for 
it  was  then  long  past  midnight. 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  45 

''Oh,  no/'  replied  Jim,  hastily,  "it  will  prob- 
ably not  be  necessary,  and  my  friend,  Toppy, 
here,  who  is  an  exceptionally  good  nurse,  can 
give  me  all  the  attention  I  require.  Be  assured, 
sir,  that  you  shall  be  called  in  again  if  anything 
unfavorable  arises.  There's  something  healing 
in  the  California  air.  The  bullet  is  out  and  as  I 
can  rest  quietly  in  Toppy's  cabin,  there  will  be 
no  further  trouble,  I  am  sure.  I  have  been 
there  before.  Doctor,"  and  he  smiled  grimly. 

''Very  well  then,"  I  said,  "if  you  insist  on 
assuming  the  responsibility  of  your  own  case, 
I  suppose  I  have  no  right  to  protest.  Remember 
your  promise,  however,  and  call  me  at  the 
slightest  intimation  of  trouble.  I  will  learn  how 
you  are,  from  time  to  time,  through  Toppy,  and 
if  I  should  at  any  time  hear  an  unfavorable 
report,  I  might  be  discourteous  enough  to  call 
without  an  invitation." 

"I  think  we  understand  each  other.  Doctor," 
replied  Jim,  "and  now  I  believe  I'll  take  a  nap; 
sleep  has  been  a  scarce  commodity  with  me 
for  a  few  days  past." 

As  I  left  the  cabin  I  could  not  rid  myself 
of  the  impression  that  there  was  something 
strangely  familiar  about  my  patient.  My  first 
acquaintance  with  him  was  certainly  the  night  of 


46  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

the  affair  at  the  Palace  in  San  Francisco,  and  yet, 
he  impressed  me  differently  from  what  might 
have  been  expected  in  meeting  an  entire  stranger. 
I  had  an  ill  defined  impression  that  Jim  had  been 
a  factor  in  my  hfe  before.  But  when,  and  where? 
My  mind  was  a  blank  upon  this  point,  nor  was 
I  hkely  to  become  enhghtened,  considering  the 
lack  of  encouragement  with  which  inquiries  into 
the  personal  histories  of  the  early  CaUfornia 
citizen  were  usually  met. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  bank  of  the  river  on 
our  return  to  the  town,  Toppy  safely  secured 
his  little  boat  to  the  overhanging  willows  and 
insisted  on  escorting  me  back  to  the  hotel.  Al- 
though this  was  unnecessary,  I  was  very  glad 
to  have  the  kind-hearted  fellow's  company,  the 
more  especially  as  I  desired  to  learn  something 
of  my  new  and  interesting  patient. 

Arriving  at  the  Tuolumne  House,  I  said— 
''Toppy,  you  have  furnished  me  the  oppor- 
tunity of  losing  my  sleep,  and  I  propose  to  get 
even.  It  is  almost  daylight,  and  we  may  as  well 
make  a  full  night  of  it.  I  want  to  know  more 
of  your  friend  Jim.  I  don't  know  why,  but  he 
greatly  interests  me.  Not  but  that  I  am  always 
interested  in  my  patients,  but  my  feeling  toward 
your  friend  is  rather  a  peculiar  one.  Suppose  we 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  47 

find  a  quiet  seat  somewhere  and  talk  a  little 
about  him?" 

Toppy  acquiesced,  and  having  decUned  the 
cigar  I  proffered  him,  in  favor  of  a  stubby  black 
pipe  that  he  produced  and  lighted,  we  seated 
ourselves  upon  an  old  stump,  a  little  way  from 
the  hotel. 

"Well,  Doc,  I  don't  s'pose  it's  ness'ary  fer 
me  ter  tell  y'u  that  Jim's  my  best  friend.  He's 
the  best  I  ever  hed,  since — well,  since  I  come 
from  the  States.  I've  got  good  reasons  fer  hkin' 
him,  ez  you'll  obsarve. 

"I  fust  met  Jim  at  Angel's  Camp,  about  three 
years  ago.  I  was  prospectin'  round  in  Calaveras 
county,  an'  used  ter  make  my  headquarters  at 
Angel's. 

"I  used  ter  booze  a  lot  in  them  days — mor'n 
I  do  now.  Doc.  I  guess  my  hide  was  stretchier 
then,  an'  used  ter  hold  more.  I  was  alius  a 
leetle  bit  excitable  when  I  was  drunk,  an'  ever- 
lastin'ly  gittin'  inter  trouble.  That's  how  I  fell 
in  with  Jim. 

"I  happened  to  be  raisin'  parti ckler  h — 1 
round  town  one  night,  an'  drifted  inter  Ned 
Griffiths  place.  I'd  been  thar  lots  uv  times,  an' 
ez  everybody  in  Angel's  knowed  me,  an'   I 


48  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

was  purty  poplar,  I'd  never  hed  no  trouble,  till 
this  night  I'm  tellin'  y'u  about. 

"It  jest  happened  that  a  crowd  uv  fellers  hed 
come  down  from  Murphy's  camp  ter  have  a 
Uttle  fim  on  ther  own  account,  an'  it  was  jes' 
my  d — d  luck  ter  run  agin  the  gang  'bout  the 
time  they  was  beginnin'  ter  feel  ther  oats  purty 
lively,  an'  of  course,  I  hed  ter  git  into  a  muss 
with  'em. 

"Ez  I  didn't  hev  no  friends  in  the  place  at 
the  time,  an'  folks  don't  mix  in  other  fellers' 
rows  much  in  the  diggin's,  I  was  buckin'  agin 
a  dead  tough  game.  Ez  luck'd  hev  it,  I  happen- 
ed ter  git  mixed  up  with  the  toughest  cuss  in  the 
crowd — ^Three  Fingered  Jack,  a  feller  what' 11 
ornyment  a  tree  yit,  y'u  see  if  he  don't!* 

''I  got  my  gun  out,  all  right,  but  the  d — d 
thing  was  outer  fix,  an'  if  it  hadn't  been,  I  was 
too  bihn'  drunk  ter  hit  a  cow  at  three  paces. 

"Well,  Jack  jest  played  with  me  with  his 
knife,  kinder  carvin'  me  up  on  the  installment 
plan,  ye  know.  He'd  socked  a  few  purty  good 
sized  holes  inter  my  ole  carkiss,  an'  was  gittin' 
ready  ter  finish  up  the  job  in  good  shape,  when 

*And  ornament  the  gallows  tree  he  did,  several  years  later. 
Author. 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  49 

Jim  come  in  an'  took  a  han'  in  the  game  with 
his  own  little  bowie. 

"I  was  too  full  er  booze  ter  'preciate  the  show, 
but  they  do  say  ez  how  Jim  did  a  purty  neat 
job.  Jack  got  well  arter  a  while,  but  he  didn't 
act  very  sosherble  with  the  folks  at  Angel's 
enny  more." 

''When  I  found  out  how  Jim  had  saved  my 
Hfe,  y'u  kin  bet  I  didn't  lose  no  time  a  looking 
him  up  an'  squarin'  myself.  I'd  heard  er  Jim 
afore,  an'  I  knowed  he  was  a  gambler  by  per- 
fession,  but  he  played  a  game  that  night,  that 
made  a  big  winnin'  fer  yores  trooly,  an'  I've 
jest  bin  layin'  fer  a  chance  ter  do  him  a  good 
turn  ever  since.  He  may  be  a  gambler,  but 
he  plays  a  squar'  game — an'  poker  at  that — 
that's  why  they  call  him  Toker  Jim.'  He's 
a  gentleman  born  an'  bred,  that's  dead  sar- 
tin,  an'  he's  got  more  eddication  an'  squar'ness 
than  a  hull  lot  er  people  whut  never  gambled 
in  ther  Uves.  When  Poker  Jim  makes  a  prom- 
ise, it's  kept.  If  he  shud  borrer  a  thousan' 
dollars  uv  me — an'  he  could  hev  it  too,  if  I  hed 
it,  you  bet!  an'  he  shud  say,  'Lookee  hyar, 
Toppy,  I'll  give  this  back  to  yer  nex'  Monday 
et  five  o'clock,'  an'  he  wasn't  on  han'  with  the 
stuff,  w'y,  then  I'd  know  that  suthin  had  hap- 


50  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

pened  to  him.  Poker  Jim  '11  keep  enny  prom- 
ise that  he  makes,  if  he's  alive  when  the  time 
fer  squar'in  things  comes." 

''You  have  excellent  reasons  for  loyalty  to 
your  friend  Jim,"  I  said.  ''He  certainly  de- 
serves your  friendship  and  respect,  no  matter 
what  his  occupation  may  be.  I  have  met  him 
before,  and  under  circumstances  that  proved 
him  to  be  a  truly  noble  character.  But  tell 
me,  Toppy,  how  does  it  happen  that  you  and 
Jim  drifted  apart?" 

"Weh,  ye  see.  Doc,  'twas  this  way.  The 
folks  up  at  Angel's  got  so  virtoous  arter  a  w^hile, 
that  gamblers  was  too  rich  fer  'em,  an'  they 
ordered  all  the  gams  ter  vamoose.  Jim  got 
ketched  in  the  round-up  'long  w^ith  the  rest, 
an'  hed  ter  git  out  'twixt  the  hght  uv  two  days. 
He  couldn't  Uck  'em  all,  less'n  they'd  come 
on  one  at  a  time,  so  he  jest  played  git  up  an' 
git  with  t'other  sports.  He  went  to  Frisco 
ter  play  higher  stakes  than  Angel's  Camp 
could  put  up,  an'  I  came  down  hyar.  Ye  see, 
I  wasn't  none  too  pop'lar,  on  account  er  standin' 
up  fer  Jim,  an'  ez  I  don't  gin'rally  fergit  ter  say 
my  say,  I  got  inter  a  little  argj-ment  with  one 
uv  the  prominent  citizens  uv  Angel's  one  day. 
I  was  sober  on  that  erkasyun  an',  well — I  come 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  51 

down  ter  Jacksonville  fer  my  health.  I  writ 
ter  Jim  ez  soon  ez  I  got  hyar,  an'  told  him  whar 
I  was,  an'  ez  soon  ez  he  got  inter  trouble  he 
knowed  whar  ter  find  a  fren'  whut  '11  stan'  by 
him  ez  long  ez  ther's  a  shot  in  ther  locker — 
savvy?" 

"Well,"  I  said,  'Toker  Jim  will  soon  be  able 
to  take  care  of  himself  again,  and  I  hope  he 
will  not  experience  any  annoyance  from  his 
recent  duelling  experience.  He  certainly  is 
possessed  of  great  courage,  and  I  should  dis- 
like to  see  his  bravery  get  him  into  further 
trouble." 

"Y'u  kin  jest  bet  Jim's  got  sand!  Y'u  air 
all  right  on  that  pint,  Doc.  Thar  ain't  no 
braver  man  livin'.  D'ye  know  whut  I  seed 
him  do  one  night  up  ter  Sonora?  Well,  thar 
was  eight  of  us  fellers  went  up  thar  ter  a  fan- 
dango, an'  Jim  went  along  ter  kinder  give  the 
thing  a  little  tone,  ye  know. 

'^'Mericans  aint  none  too  pop'lar  with  the 
greasers  nohow,  'cept  with  their  women  folks, 
an'  them  fellers  up  thar  was  jes'  bilin',  when 
they  seed  us  come  inter  ther  ole  fandango. 
When  we  got  ter  cuttin'  'em  out  with  their 
black  eyed  senoritas,   they  was  ugly   enough 


52  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

ter  slit  our  throats,  en  it  was  jest  our  blind 
luck  that  fin'ly  kep'  'em  from  doin'  it. 

''Jim  don't  often  drink  enny  Hcker,  but  he 
was  a  feelin'  purty  good  that  night,  an'  jest 
spilin'  fer  a  row  with  the  d — d  greasers.  Things 
was  goin'  too  slow  fer  him,  so  he  takes  a  piece 
er  chalk,  goes  out  inter  the  middle  of  the  hall 
an'  draws  a  great  big  'Merican  eagle  on  the 
floor.  Then  he  pulled  his  gun  an'  called  for 
some  d — d  greaser  ter  step  on  the  bird!  We 
seed  he  was  in  for  it,  an'  gathered  'round  him 
ready  fer  the  music  ter  begin.  Each  side 
was  waitin'  fer  t'other  ter  open  the  ball,  when 
the  feller  what  run  the  hall  blowed  the  hghts 
out.  We  grabbed  Jim  an'  hustled  him  out, 
an'  made  him  take  leg  bail  'long  with  the  rest 
uv  us.  He  wanted  ter  go  back,  but  we  wouldn't 
hev  it — the  game  was  jest  a  httle  too  stiff  fer  us, 
y'u  bet!  Oh,  yes,  Poker  Jim  is  dead  game, 
all  right. 

''An'  now.  Doc,  I'm  goin'  ter  tell  ye  suthin' 
on  the  dead  quiet.  Jim's  got  a  wife  an'  child 
down  in  Frisco.  He  married  a  little  Spanish 
gal  about  two  years  ago,  an'  she  was  a  bute,  I 
kin  tell  ye!  They've  got  a  little  baby  a  year 
ole,  an'  Jim's  the  proud es'  feller  y'u  ever  seed. 
Ez  soon  ez  that  Frisco  scrape  is  thi'ough  with, 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  53 

he's  goin'  ter  send  fer  his  family,  an'  I'm  goin' 
ter  quit  my  cabin  an'  let  Jim  an'  his  folks  hev 
it.  My  place  is  kinder  outer  the  way  an'  pri- 
vate like,  an'  that'll  jest  suit  Jim." 

''Well,  Toppy,"  I  said,  ''I  am  more  inter- 
ested in  your  friend  than  ever,  and  I  hope 
that  you  may  soon  consummate  your  plans  to 
domicile  him  and  his  family  among  us." 

Day  was  now  breaking,  and  the  voice  of  the 
devout  Dave  Smuggins  could  be  heard  ringing 
through  the  halls  and  vibrating  the  very  roof 
of  the  hotel,  as  he  hoarsely  shouted  his  pious 
appeal  to  the  slumbering  boarders. 

Toppy  accompanied  me  to  the  hotel  bar 
and  joined  me  in  an  ''eye-opener,"  after  which 
he  bade  me  good  morning  and  returned  home, 
while  I  prepared  to  do  full  justice  to  Keyse's 
immortal  flapjacks. 

As  Toppy  had  planned,  Poker  Jim  subsequent- 
ly became  a  citizen  of  Jacksonville.  Advices 
from  San  Francisco  showed  the  excitement 
caused  by  the  duel  to  be  practically  over  after 
a  few  weeks,  and,  his  wound  having  healed,  my 
patient  quietly  installed  himself  among  the 
sporting  element  of  our  population,  resuming 


54  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

the  occupation  that  had  earned  for  him  the  so- 
briquet of  'Toker  Jim." 

The  inhabitants  of  Jacksonville  had  often 
heard  of  the  cool,  quiet  gentleman  who  had 
called  down  and  cut  up  Three  Fingered  Jack. 
Many  of  his  fellow  townsmen  knew  him  person- 
ally. No  questions  were  asked  therefore,  when 
Poker  Jim  quietly  and  unostentatiously  iden- 
tified himself  with  our  thriving  town.  Nor  did 
the  citizens  become  more  inquisitive,  when, 
a  short  time  afterward,  Jim's  family  arrived 
and  took  possession  of  Toppy's  cabin.  A  few 
curious  looks  were  bestowed  on  Toppy,  when 
it  was  learned  that  he  had  given  up  his  cabin  to 
the  gambler  and  his  family  and  had  taken  quar- 
ters at  the  Tuolumne  House.  Curiosity  being  at 
a  discount  in  our  little  burg,  however,  and  Toppy 
being  inclined  to  keep  his  own  counsel,  there 
was  no  disposition  to  press  matters  to  the  point 
of  disturbing  his  serenity. 

The  same  conservative  tendency  with  which 
the  towns-people  regarded  the  arrangement 
between  Toppy  and  his  friend  Jim,  also  pro- 
tected the  family  of  the  latter  from  intrusion. 
Jim  never  alluded  to  his  domestic  affairs,  and, 
as  Toppy  did  all  of  the  necessary  chores  and 
errands  for  his  friend's  family,  the  personnel 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  55 

of  the  latter  was  entirely  a  matter  of  specula- 
tion. 

Despite  the  social  prejudice  which  even  a 
mining  town  entertains  against  the  professional 
gambler,  however  leniently  his  occupation  may 
be  regarded,  Poker  Jim  became  very  popular. 
His  squareness  and  undisputed  courage,  asso- 
ciated with  his  quiet,  unobtrusive  demeanor  and 
the  never-failing  accuracy  with  which  he  handled 
his  revolver,  gained  for  him  an  esteem  which,  if 
it  was  not  respect,  had  about  the  same  market 
value  as  that  sentimental  conamodity. 

Jim's  field  of  operation  was  necessarily  such 
that  I  did  not  often  come  in  contact  with  him. 
I  had  endeavored  to  cultivate  him  at  first,  but 
he  seemed  to  be  decidedly  averse  to  continuing 
my  acquaintance  and  even  appeared  to  avoid 
me,  much  to  my  bewilderment.  I  often  wonder- 
ed why  he  should  have  conducted  himself  so 
strangely,  and  also  why  his  appearance  and 
ways  seemed  so  famihar.  I  sometimes  wished 
I  might  have  the  opportunity  of  conversing 
with  him,  but  he  so  persistently  avoided  me 
that  I  finally  gave  up  all  hope  of  ever  learning 
more  about  him. 

Time  passed  quickly  in  Jacksonville,  and  in 
the  pressure  of  work  that  was  forced  upon  me 


56  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

by  numerous  cases  of  rheumatism  and  other 
effects  of  exposure  during  the  stormy  weather 
of  the  winter  season,  I  found  plenty  to  occupy 
my  attention,  hence  I  heard  very  Httle  of  the 
affairs  of  our  people  at  large,  for  some  time.  I 
was  therefore  quite  surprised  one  evening  to 
find  that  my  fellow-citizens  were  in  a  state  of 
rather  pronounced  excitement,  and,  inciden- 
tally, greatly  concerned  about  the  moral  status 
of  our  community. 

It  seemed  that  a  wave  of  moral  purification 
had  been  gradually  passing  through  the  mining 
region  from  one  town  and  camp  to  another  and 
the  fever  of  moral  reaction  had  finally  struck 
Jacksonville. 

At  a  more  or  less  informal  meeting  held  at 
the  Tuolumne  House,  at  which  Tennessee  Dick 
presided  with  more  enthusiasm  than  knowl- 
edge of  parliamentary  law,  it  was  finally  decided 
that  the  gambling  element  of  Jacksonville  was 
a  superfluous  and  dangerous  quantity  in  the 
body  social,  and  must  therefore  be  removed — 
and  that  quickly.  With  the  gambling  fraternity 
there  was  included  in  a  sweepingly  condem- 
natory resolution,  certain  other  unwholesome 
elements  in  our  primitive  social  system — of 
the  feminine  persuasion. 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  67 

It  was  noticeable  that  those  of  our  citizens 
whose  losses  at  the  gambling  table  were  largest 
and  most  recent,  or  whose  morals  in  other  di- 
rections w^re  least  worthy  of  commendation, 
were  the  noisiest  champions  of  social  reform.  As 
is  usually  the  case  with  meetings  where  the  dom- 
inant impulse  is  to  pretend  a  ^d^tue  though 
one  has  it  not,  the  party  of  reform — and  noise — 
carried  the  day. 

The  meeting  was  well  timed,  for  the  only 
man  who  might  have  interposed  an  objection 
to  the  sweeping  tone  of  the  final  resolution 
was  absent  from  town — Toppy  had  been  in 
Stockton  for  several  weeks.  Poor  fellow!  He 
remained  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  social 
revolution  that  menaced  the  safety  of  Poker 
Jim,  until  long  after  it  was  too  late  to  defend 
his  friend — in  this  world  at  least. 

Public  opinion  developed  into  concerted  popu- 
lar action  very  quickly  in  California  mining 
towns,  and  by  the  following  morning,  due 
notice  had  been  served  on  every  individual  who 
was  in  any  way  identified  with  the  undesirable 
element  of  the  population,  to  leave  town  within 
twenty-four  houi's. 

Most  of  the  persons  who  were  ordered  to 
move  on,  had  been  in  similar  straits  before, 


58  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

and  were  constantly  on  the  qui  vive  of  expecta- 
tion of  some  such  emergency.  As  practice 
makes  perfect,  and  delay  is  not  healthful  after 
one  has  been  told  to  leave  a  mining  town  for  the 
good  of  its  morals,  the  majority  of  the  tabooed 
ones  took  time  by  the  forelock  and  decamped 
early.  Indeed,  by  nightfall,  everybody  who 
had  been  given  the  ultimatum  by  the  citizens, 
had  departed — with  one  exception. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  of  the  day  of  the 
exodus.  A  large  party  of  our  citizens  were 
congregated  in  the  bar-room  of  the  Tuolumne 
House,  discussing  the  important  event  that  had 
so  effectually  cleared  the  moral  atmosphere 
of  our  town.  The  subtle  essence  of  sanctity 
apparently  had  already  pervaded  our  social 
fabric. 

Mutual  congratulations  had  been  in  order  for 
some  time,  and  the  resultant  libations  had 
considerably  disturbed  the  equilibrium  of  the 
crowd.  Each  man,  however,  felt  that  he  was  a 
thoroughly  good  fellow,  and  that  everybody 
else  present  was  pretty  good.  There  was  not 
a  man  in  the  crowd  who  did  not  feel  that  he  was 
a  modern  Hercules,  jubilating  after  the  success- 
ful accomplishment  of  a  task  beside  which  his 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  59 

ancient  prototype's  experience  as  chambermaid 
in  the  Augean  Stables,  was  but  a  trifling  thing 
indeed.  Conomingled  with  the  self-congratu- 
lations of  these  moral  reformers,  were  boastful 
remarks  expressive  of  the  awful  things  the 
speakers  would  have  done,  had  not  the  persons 
who  had  contaminated  the  very  air  of  our  httle 
burg,  opportunely  left  in  good  season  after 
having  received  their  "notice  to  quit." 

The  proceedings  of  the  extempore  mutual- 
admiration  society-of -social-purists  were  at  their 
height,  and  our  citizens  were  fast  becoming 
inflated  to  a  superlative  degree,  when  a  step 
was  heard  on  the  hotel  porch,  the  door  opened, 
and  there  on  the  threshold,  with  a  smile  of 
mocking  gravity  upon  his  handsome  face,  stood 
— Poker  Jim ! 

He  had  evidently  been  riding  hard,  for  his 
boots  and  clothing  were  covered  with  the  red 
dust  of  the  Tuolunme  roads,  and  his  long  curly 
hair  was  in  a  condition  of  dust}^  confusion  that 
was  totally  unlike  his  usual  immaculateness. 

The  sudden  quiet  that  fell  upon  the  noisy 
crowd  was  something  phenomenal,  and  as  a 
disinterested  observer  I  was  duly  impressed  by 
it.  My  fellow  townsmen  were  not  cowards,  but 
they  were  now  face  to  face  with  a  quahty  of 


60  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

bravery  which  was  more  than  physical  indif- 
ference to  danger.  Poker  Jim  was  a  man 
whose  presence  conveyed  the  impression  of 
great  intellectual  and  moral  power — and  it  was 
not  without  pronounced  effect  upon  those 
rude  miners. 

''Good  evening,  gentlemen/'  said  Jim,  bland- 
ly, "I  hope  I'm  not  intruding  on  this  scene  of 
festivity  and  rejoicing" — and  he  looked  about 
him  somewhat  sarcastically.  ''As  you  do  not 
seem  at  all  disturbed  by  my  presence,"  he 
continued,  "I  conclude  that  my  company  is 
at  least  unobjectionable,  and  with  your  per- 
mission I  will  join  your  party,"  and  Jim  strode 
up  to  the  bar,  his  huge  spurs  cHnking  a  merry 
defiance  as  he  walked. 

"You  see,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "I 
have  a  very  important  engagement  which  will 
temporarily  necessitate  my  absence  from  town, 
and  as  I  start  early  in  the  morning,  I  thought 
I  would  drop  in  and  bid  my  fellow  citizens 
good  bye.  It  will  save  you  the  trouble  of 
sending  a  committee  to  see  me  off — I  prefer 
that  you  should  not  give  yourselves  any  trouble 
on  my  account.  Should  you,  however,  appoint 
a  committee  to  escort  me  back  to  town  again,  I 
shall  not  object.     Indeed,  I  should  feel  obUged 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  61 

to  you  if  you  would  turn  out  en  masse  and  greet 
me  with  a  brass  band.  And,  now,  fellow 
townsmen,  friends  and  former  patrons,  have  a 
parting  drink  with  me.  I  see  your  hand  but 
cannot  call  you." 

Whether  it  was  because  liquor  was  just  then 
en  regie,  the  spontaneous  revival  of  Jim's  popu- 
larity, or  his  cool,  sarcastic  assurance,  is  an 
open  question,  but  the  crowd  fell  to  with  a  will, 
and  everybody,  with  the  exception  of  one  man, 
drank  with  him.  For  the  moment  it  seemed 
as  though  our  citizens  had  forgotten  that  Jim 
was  under  the  ban. 

Among  the  party  which  had  been  celebrating 
the  reform  movement  of  our  enterprising  town, 
w^as  a  fellow  by  the  name  of  Jeff  Hosking,  a 
comparatively  recent  addition  to  our  population, 
who  hailed  from  Mm-phy's  Camp.  ^Vhether 
Hosking  had  an  old  time  grudge  to  settle  with 
Poker  Jim,  no  one  ever  knew,  but  it  was  after- 
ward rumored  that  a  feud  of  long  standing 
had  existed  between  them. 

From  whatever  cause,  however,  the  gentle- 
man from  Calaveras  remained  conspicuously 
apart  from  his  sociable  companions,  insolently 
shaking  his  head  in  refusal  of  Jim's  proffered 
hospitality.     To  accentuate  his  discourtesy — 


62  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

for  such  conduct  was  considered  the  acme  of 
rudeness  in  our  httle  community — he  smiled 
in  a  manner  that  was  an  unpleasant  combina- 
tion of  superciliousness  and  contempt. 

The  assembled  company  looked  at  Jeff  in 
open  mouthed  astonishment  for  a  few  seconds, 
but  Jim  affected  not  to  notice  the  implied 
insult,  much  to  the  bewilderment  of  the  rest 
of  the  party. 

The  situation  was,  to  say  the  least,  embar- 
rassing, and  Dixie,  with  a  pardonable  desire 
to  smooth  things  over,  said — 

"Well,  Jeff,  what's  the  matter;  hev  y'u  lost 
yer  appetite  fer  licker?" 

"No  sirree.  Mister  Dixie!"  repUed  Hosking, 
"but  I  ain't  drinkin'  with  no  gamblers  jest  now, 
'specially  them  that  ain't  on  the  squar',  an' 
some  folks  that  I  knows  of,  hain't  improved 
much  since  they  was  chased  outer  Murphy's." 

"Drink  your  liquor,  gentlemen,"  said  Jim, 
quietly,  "and  then  we  will  investigate  this 
very  interesting  affair!" 

The  Uquor  having  been  disposed  of,  Jim 
lounged  leisurely  toward  his  insulter,  looked 
him  steadily  in  the  eye  for  a  moment  and  then 
said — 

"And  some  people's  manners  have  not  greatly 


'THEHE   was   a  SHOKT,   sharp  STUlUiCLK,    A   HARM- 
LESS SHOT,   AND  JIM's  INSULTER  WAS  LYING 
ON  THE  FliOOR  WITH  A  CLEAN  CUT  IN   HLS  CHKST' 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  63 

improved  since  they  left  Murphy's.  As  for  my 
squareness,  that's  a  matter  for  argument,  but 
one  which  you  are  hardly  competent  to  pass  an 
opinion  upon,  unless  you  have  changed  gTeatly 
in  the  last  few  years.  Now,  Mr.  Hosking, 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  something  that  may 
interest  you. 

"At  nine  o'clock  this  morning,  I  was  notified 
to  change  my  location  within  twenty-four 
hours.  I  propose  to  get  aw^ay  from  to\Mi  as 
quietly  and  pleasantly  as  possible.  Let  me 
inform  you,  however,  that  until  nine  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning,  I  am  a  citizen  of  Jackson- 
ville, and  shall  stand  for  my  rights  and  self- 
respect  accordingly." 

Emboldened  by  Jim's  apparent  indisposition 
to  begin  a  row,  and,  like  all  bullies,  mistaking 
conservatism  for  cowardice,   Hosking  replied: 

"Y'u  make  a  mighty  purty  speech,  mister 
man,  but  y'u  aint  on  the  squar'  jest  the  same, 
an'  I—" 

We  never  knew  what  Hosking  was  going  to 
say ;  his  mouth  was  slapped  so  quickly  that  his 
intentions  became  a  matter  for  conjecture. 

It  was  impossible  to  see  exactly  what  hap- 
pened next — the  two  men  sprang  at  each  other 
so  fiercely.     There  was  a  short,  sharp  struggle. 


64  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

a  shot  from  Hosking's  revolver,  that  sped 
harmlessly  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  lodgmg 
in  the  wall,  and  Jim,  bowie  in  hand,  was  bound- 
ing toward  the  open  door,  leaving  his  insulter 
lying  upon  the  floor  with  a  clean  cut  in  his 
chest  through  which  his  life  was  ebbing  away 
as  fast  as  the  escaping  blood  could  carry  it! 

As  Jim  ran,  some  one  in  the  crowd  fired  a 
shot  after  him.  Everybody  rushed  to  the  door, 
but  he  was  in  the  saddle  and  away,  amid  a 
shower  of  pistol  balls,  which,  much  to  my 
rehef,  apparently  flew  wide  of  their  mark. 

I  was  so  interested  in  the  safety  of  the  fugitive 
that  I  forgot  poor  Jeff,  and,  with  a  pang  of 
remorse,  I  hastened  back  to  his  side,  only  to 
find  that  Poker  Jim's  work  had  been  too  skillful 
for  any  surgeon  to  undo.     The  man  was  dead! 

With  the  killing  of  Hosking,  well  deserved 
though  it  may  have  been.  Poker  Jim's  popularity 
was  a  thing  of  the  past.  While  under  the 
ban  of  pubHc  sentiment,  he  had  killed  a  repu- 
table citizen  of  Jacksonville  in  a  quarrel — he  was 
now  an  outlaw,  upon  whose  head  a  price  was 
set.     But  he  was  not  to  be  caught. 

No  one  supposed  that  Jim  would  be  mad 
enough  to  venture  near  his  cabin,  even  to  see 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  65 

his  wife  and  child,  yet  the  citizens  set  a  watch 
over  the  place  as  a  matter  of  ordinary  pre- 
caution, and  for  the  purpose  of  learning  her 
destination  whenever  his  wife  should  undertake 
to  follow  and  join  her  husband.  I,  meanwhile, 
saw  that  Jim's  family  wanted  for  nothing,  a 
duty  in  which  the  sentiment  of  the  town  duly 
supported  me,  for,  rude  as  they  were,  our 
people  were  tender-hearted  to  a  fault.  With 
uncouth  yet  delicate  discernment  the  boys 
kept  away  from  the  little  cabin,  hence  no 
visitor  but  myself  ever  crossed  the  threshold. 
Toppy's  description  of  Jim's  wife  had  not 
been  overdrawn — she  was  indeed  beautiful, 
and  as  charming  a  woman  as  I  ever  met.  She 
was  plucky  too — she  was  apparently  not  at  all 
uneasy  about  her  husband,  and  seemed  to  have 
perfect  confidence  in  his  abiUty  to  take  care  of 
himself.  The  child,  a  boy,  resembled  his 
father,  and  was  such  a  sweet,  pretty  httle 
fellow  that  I  fell  quite  in  love  with  him.  The 
little  one  vaguely  recalled  to  my  mind  a  little 
curly-headed  boy  baby  that  I  used  to  tote  about 
when  I  was  a  lad,  and  who,  I  thought,  was  the 
cutest  little  brother  that  a  boy  ever  had.  I 
resolved  that  Jim's  family  should  not  want  a 
friend  as  long  as  I  could  care  for  them.     Toppy's 


66  POKER  JLAI,  GENTLEMAN 

loyalty  I  well  knew,  and  I  was  therefore  sure 
of  being  ably  seconded  on  his  return  from 
Stockton. 

But  our  towns-people  were  soon  to  have 
more  important  matters  to  think  about  than 
the  capture  of  Poker  Jim. 

The  latter  part  of  the  winter  of  1860,  and 
the  early  spring  of  1861,  will  never  be  forgotten 
by  the  inhabitants  of  the  Tuolumne  valley. 
I  certainty  have  reason  to  remember  it  as  long 
as  I  may  live. 

As  I  have  already  intimated,  the  spring 
freshets  of  the  California  valleys  were  a  matter 
of  yearly  experience.  The  inhabitants  had 
become  accustomed  to  them  and  had  usually 
been,  able  to  escape  serious  disaster,  hence  they 
had  never  quite  realized  what  the  elements 
could  do  at  their  worst. 

The  winter  had  been  a  hard  one;  there  had 
been  an  excessive  rainfall,  and  reports  from  the 
mountain  towns  showed  a  greater  amount  of 
snow  than  had  ever  before  been  experienced 
in  that  region.  When  the  mountain  snows 
began  to  melt,  therefore,  and  the  terrific  storms 
characteristic  of  the  breaking  up  of  the  winter 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  67 

season  came  on,  an  enormous  volume  of  water 
began  pouring  down  into  the  valleys,  which 
was  as  alarming  as  it  was  unprecedented. 

We  had  heard  vague  rumors  of  serious 
trouble  in  the  valleys  of  the  Sacramento  and 
San  Joaquin,  and,  as  the  Tuolumne  had  risen  to 
a  point  hitherto  unheard  of,  the  oldest  settlers 
became  somewhat  uneasy. 

Fearing  lest  the  Tuolumne — which  was  fast 
becoming  a  raging  torrent — might  eventually 
become  impassable,  I  saw  that  ''Mrs.  Jim,"  as 
I  used  to  call  her,  was  well  supplied  Vvdth 
necessaries.  I  knew  that  the  water  rise  would 
be  of  short  duration — for  so  tradition  had  it — 
hence  I  was  not  uneasy  about  my  interesting 
charges. 

The  river  had  finally  risen  to  a  point  nearly 
two  feet  beyond  the  highest  water  mark  ever 
known;  it  then  began  to  subside  and  we  felt 
much  easier — the  end  was  apparently  in  sight. 
But  we  deceived   ourselves  most   thoroughly. 

The  people  of  Jacksonville,  congratulating 
themselves  on  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  the 
greatest  freshet  in  their  experience,  retired  one 
night  to  sleep  in  fancied  security,  only  to  be 
rudely  awakened  the  following  morning  by 
the  surging  of  th^  waters  of  the  Tuolumne 


68  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

against  the  very  beds  on  which  they  slept. 
The  water  was  seeking  its  revenge — a  revenge 
that  was  soon  to  be  fully  accomphshed. 

Within  twenty-four  hours  there  was  but  one 
safe  point  in  the  entire  town — the  high  ground 
upon  which  stood  the  Tuolumne  House.  Prac- 
tically every  other  building  in  town,  save  one, 
was  washed  away.  One  sturdy  miner  upon 
whom  fortune  had  smiled,  had  built  himself  a 
pretty  Httle  cottage,  which  he  determined  to 
save.  He  passed  a  cable  through  a  door  and 
a  window  at  the  corner  of  the  house,  and  guyed 
it  to  a  huge  tree  upon  a  hill  opposite.  The 
cottage  swung  about  at  the  end  of  the  rope 
until  the  waters  subsided,  when  the  triumphant 
miner  anchored  it  in  a  new  location,  this  time 
on  higher  ground — the  original  site  of  his  home 
having  gently  shpped  into  the  river.  But  Nelson 
was  an  exception ;  his  brother  miners  were  not  so 
fortunate. 

The  hotel  was  full  to  overflowing  and  tents 
w^ere  at  a  premium.  Mining  was  a  forgotten 
industry.  The  chief  occupation  of  the  citizens 
was  counting  noses  to  see  who  was  missing, 
and  fishing  up  such  articles  of  value  as  they 
could  from  amid  the  debris  of  the  flood.  For 
entertainment  they  counted  the  buildings  and 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  69 

studied  the  wreckage  that  the  waters  brought 
down  from  the  towns  and  camps  higher  up  the 
valley.  An  occasional  corpse  was  seen  floating 
along  among  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  carried 
past  by  the  raging  river — a  ghastly  reminder 
of  the  seriousness  of  the  situation. 

Almost  directly  opposite  the  Tuolunme  House 
was  a  dam  in  the  river.  There  were  times 
during  the  diy  season  when  the  Tuolumne 
was  so  low  that  one  could  walk  across  via  this 
dam.  Now,  however,  it  was  a  veritable  Niag- 
ara. It  was  interesting,  as  well  as  harrowing, 
to  watch  the  destruction  of  the  buildings  as 
they  toppled  over  the  brink  and  broke  up. 
Occasionally  a  house,  larger  than  the  rest, 
would  lodge  at  the  dam  for  some  time  before 
going  over.  At  one  point  quite  a  mass  of 
debris  had  collected  and  bade  fair  to  remain 
indefinitely  blocked  up  against  a  projecting 
part  of  the  dam. 

Just  beyond  the  further  end  of  the  dam  I 
could  see  Toppy's  little  cabin,  gleaming  white 
and  clearly  cut  against  the  dark  green  back- 
ground of  the  hillside  whereon  it  stood,  far  out 
of  the  way  of  all  possible  danger  from  the 
rising  waters. 

A  group  of  our  citizens  was  standing  on  safe 


70  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

ground  near  the  hotel,  quietly  discussing  the 
apparently  hopeless  misery  and  total  destruc- 
tion that  had  befallen  our  industrious  Httle 
town,  when  our  attention  was  attracted  by  a 
house,  larger  than  any  we  had  yet  seen,  which 
came  drifting  rapidly  down  the  stream  in  full 
view. 

As  the  house  came  nearer,  Dixie  called  out — 
''By  G-d,  boys!  thar's  a  man  in  the  winder!" 

And  so  there  was,  and  a  badly  frightened 
one  at  that !  As  he  came  well  within  sight,  he 
could  be  seen  waving  a  garment  of  some  kind 
in  wild  and  emphatic  signals  of  distress.  His 
voice  could  soon  be  heard,  calling  for  assistance 
in  a  series  of  wild  yells  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  an  Indian  war-dance. 

There  was  great  excitement  among  my  fellow 
citizens  for  a  few  moments,  and  groans  of 
despair  at  our  inability  to  rescue  the  stranger 
were  plentiful,  when  suddenly  some  one  in  the 
crowd  yelled — 

"Oh,  h — 1!  It's  a  d — d  Chinaman,  ez  sure  ez 
shootin'!" 

And  so  it  proved  to  be. 

I  trust  that  the  philanthropy  of  my  fellow 
townsmen  v^ill  not  be  underestimated,  if  I 
frankly  state  that  an  unmistakable  sigh  of  re- 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  71 

lief  went  up  from  the  crowd  when  it  w^as  dis- 
covered that  the  poor  devil  w4iose  fate  it  had 
just  been  bew^ailing,  was  a  despised  Mongolian. 

The  nationahty  of  the  hapless  passenger  in 
the  floating  house  and  the  hopelessness  of  an 
attempt  at  rescue,  even  if  our  citizens  had  been 
so  disposed,  served  to  silence  the  spectators  of 
the  Chinaman's  fate.  In  justice  to  my  old 
friends,  I  wdll  state  that  I  have  never  doubted 
that  an  effort  to  save  the  luckless  MongoHan 
would  have  been  made,  had  any  means  of  rescue 
been  at  hand.  Not  a  boat  was  left  in  tow^n,  and 
even  had  there  been  a  hundred  at  our  disposal, 
it  looked  like  certain  death  to  attempt  to 
traverse  the  terrific  torrent  that  confronted  us. 

The  Chinaman  was  apparently  clearly  doom- 
ed, and  the  end  was  only  a  question  of  minutes, 
a  fact  which  the  poor  fellow  himself  appre- 
ciated even  more  keenly  than  we  did,  as  was 
shown  by  the  renewed  vigor  of  his  frantic  cries 
for  assistance,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  dam 
that  his  strange  craft  was  so  rapidly  nearing. 

But,  as  Big  Brown  was  wont  to  say,  "No- 
body hez  sich  good  luck  ez  er  fool,  'ceptin'  a 
d — d  Chinaman."  The  house  in  w^hich  the 
luckless  voyager  was  making  his  unwiUing 
and  terrible  journey,  caught  upon  the  debris 


72  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

that  had  accumulated  near  the  center  of  the 
dam!  Here  it  remained  poised  for  an  instant, 
almost  upon  the  very  verge  of  destruction, 
then  swinging  squarely  about  in  the  rushing 
current,  it  lodged  broad-side  to,  in  such  a 
manner  that  it  came  to  a  full  stop  and  remained 
motionless. 

The  unfortunate  Chinaman  now  redoubled 
his  cries  for  assistance,  and  the  crowd,  in  silent 
awe,  awaited  the  giving  way  of  the  temporary 
obstruction  and  the  inevitable  destruction  of 
the  house  and  its  unhappy  tenant. 

A  moment  later,  a  man  was  seen  to 
emerge  from  the  scrub  pines  near  the  water's 
edge  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  some 
distance  below  Toppy's  cabin.  He  was  drag- 
ging a  small  boat,  that  had  evidently  been 
concealed  among  the  trees. 

The  man  pushed  his  little  craft  into  the 
swift  running  water,  sprang  in,  and  pulled 
boldly  away  from  the  bank!  As  he  did  so,  he 
stood  upright  for  a  moment  and  turned  his 
features  squarely  toward  us.  Even  at  that 
distance  there  was  no  mistaking  that  magnifi- 
cent physique  and  fearless  bearing! 

'It's  Poker  Jim,  by  G-d!"  cried  a  number 
of  men  simultaneously.    Almost  automatically, 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  73 

several  among  the  crowd  drew  their  pistols 
and  fired  at  the  far-distant  figure — a  useless 
feat  of  bravery,  as  their  target  was  probably 
beyond  rifle-shot,  to  say  nothing  of  trying  to 
hit  a  man  at  that  distance  with  a  six-shooter. 

"Hold  on,  boys!"  cried  Big  Brown,  in  aston- 
ishment. "If  he  aint  goin'  arter  that  d — d 
Chinaman  I'll  eat  my  hat!  Well,  I'll  be  ker- 
flummuxed!    If  that  don't  beat  h — l!" 

If  there  was  anything  the  early  settlers  of  the 
diggings  worshipped,  it  was  reckless,  fool-hardy 
bravery.  From  that  moment  Jim  was  a  hero, 
a  Bayard,  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche,  before 
whose  chivak}^  every  man  who  saw  his  coura- 
geous act  was  ready  to  bow  down  to  the  very 
earth. 

The  crowd  silently  watched  Jim  for  a  moment, 
and  then  broke  out  in  a  chorus  of  "bravos!" 
and  hand  clappings  which,  although  they 
impressed  the  object  of  their  admiration  not 
at  all — even  if  he  noticed  them,  which  is  doubt- 
ful— expressed  in  unmistakable  language  a 
sudden  change  in  the  sentiment  of  our  towns- 
people toward  him  whom  thej^  had  so  recently 
outlawed. 

The  first  burst  of  applause  over  with,  we 
watched  the  brave  fellow  in  almost  breathless 


74  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

anxiety,  as  he  skilfully  directed  his  httle  boat 
toward  the  house,  the  Chinaman  meanwhile 
having  stopped  his  yelling  for  the  moment, 
in  anticipation  of  the  approach  of  his  rescuer. 

Whether  Jim  had  intended  to  bring  up 
against  the  side  of  the  house  that  lay  up-stream, 
as  seemed  wisest,  would  be  difficult  to  say; 
if  such  was  his  intention  however,  he  certainly 
miscalculated,  for  his  boat  disappeared  behind 
the  end  of  the  house  which  was  farthest  away 
from  us. 

The  rest  of  the  tragedy  we  could  not  see,  for 
we  had  hardly  lost  sight  of  Jim  before  the 
obstructing  debris  gave  way  and  the  house 
shot  over  the  dam,  sweeping  everything  before 
it! 

So  died  a  hero ! 

A  searching  party  went  out  a  short  time 
afterward,  and,  at  great  risk,  found  and  secured 
the  body  of  Poker  Jim,  battered  and  bruised, 
but  still  classically  handsome  and  debonair, 
even  in  death.  As  the  boys  were  sorrowfully 
returning  to  town  with  the  body  of  the  man 
whom  a  few  hours  before  they  had  tried  to  kill, 
they  spied  upon  a  mass  of  wreckage  that  had 
lodged  in  a  partially  submerged  tree-top  a  few 
feet  from  shore,  a  badly  frightened  but  still 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  75 

yelling  individual,  at  the  sight  of  whom  Big 
Brown  almost  collapsed. 
It  was  the  Chinaman ! 

Early  the  next  morning,  a  cortege  composed 
of  every  citizen  who  was  able  to  walk,  climbed 
slowly  and  sorrowfully  up  the  road  leading 
to  the  little  cemeter}^,  just  back  of  town.  At 
the  head  of  the  solemn  procession  w^ere  six 
stout  miners,  hat  in  hand,  bearing  upon  a  rude 
stretcher  the  body  of  Poker  Jim.  Just  behind 
the  bod}',  another  party  was  carrying  a  rough 
coffin,  composed  of  pieces  of  wreckage,  hastily 
thrown  together. 

By  no  means  the  least  sorrowful  feature  of 
the  funeral  was  the  fact  that  we  had  no  means 
of  communication  with  the  dead  man's  wife, 
nor  did  we  indeed,  even  know  whether  or  not 
she  had  witnessed  his  death. 

The  cemetery  reached,  and  the  body  having 
been  laid  in  the  clumsy  coffin  beside  the  grave 
which  the  kind-hearted  miners  had  already 
dug,   there  was   an   embarrassing  pause — 

I  had  been  asked  to  say  a  few  words,  in  lieu 
of  a  clergyman,  and  had  agreed  to  do  so,  on 
condition  that  some  one  else  was  selected  to 


76  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

say  something  in  behalf  of  the  mining  popu- 
lation proper.  Dixie  was  selected  to  cooperate 
with  me,  but  was  evidently  waiting  for  me  to 
give  him  his  cue,  so  I  was  obhged  to  open  the 
services  as  well  as  I  could. 

I  was  so  overcome  with  emotion  that  I  could 
hardly  find  voice  to  say  a  word.  I  finally 
managed,  however,  to  give  a  brief  eulogy  of  the 
dead  man,  revolving  chiefly  around  the  incident 
that  happened  in  the  San  Francisco  gambling- 
house  on  the  occasion  when  I  met  Jim  for  the 
first  time.  My  remarks  were  received  with  a 
running  fire  of  muttered  eulogies  of  the  deceased 
hero,  which  were  as  sincere  as  they  were  inele- 
gant. 

Dixie  now  mustered  up  the  necessarj^  courage, 
mounted  a  stump  and  began: 

'Teller  citizens,  we  air  hyar  ter  do  a  solemn 
dooty.  One  uv  our  most  prom'nent  an'  re- 
spected citizens  is  a  lyin'  hyar  dead,  an'  we, 
ez  his  fren's,  air  hyar  ter  give  him  a  good  send 
off.  Poker  Jim  hez  passed  in  his  checks;  he 
hez  cashed  in  fer  the  las'  time,  an'  thar  aint 
nobody  hyar  whut'll  say  that  his  last  deal 
wasn't  a  squar  one.  Sum  mout  say  ez  how 
Jim  was  a  d — d  fool,  ter  play  agin  sich  a  dead 
open-an'-shut  game,  with  a  d — d  Chinaman  fer 


POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN  77 

stakes,  but,  my  feller  citizens,  Jim  cut  the  cards 
on  the  squar',  an'  he  died  ez  squar'  ez  enny 
man  that  ever  stepped  in  shoe  leather. 

"An'  Jim  died  game,  an'  with  his  boots  on. 
He  was  n't  no  white-Hvered  coyote,  Jim  wasn't. 
Ef  thar  was  enny  yaller  streaks  in  him,  w'y  no- 
body ever  knowed  it.  He  wuz  a  sandy  man 
frum  way  up  the  creek,  y'u  bet!  He  wuz  a 
dead-game  cock  fer  fair. 

"I  wish  we  knowed  whut  Jim's  States'  name 
was,  but  thar  aint  nobody  hyar  ter  tell  us,  an' 
ez  we  hev  alius  knowed  him  as  Poker  Jim,  w'y 
that's  the  name  we'll  bury  him  by.  It  was 
good  'nuff  fer  him,  livin',  an'  it's  good  'nuff  fer 
us,  now  that  he's  dead. 

"I  aint  no  speechifier,  ez  y'u  all  know,  an' 
Doc,  hyar,  hez  done  the  hansum  thing  by  Jim 
in  that  line,  so  I  aint  a  goin'  ter  spile  a  good 
thing,  but  I'm  jes'  goin'  ter  say  one  thing,  an' 
say  it  plain.  We  aU  made  nriis takes  on  the 
diseased.  He  mout  hev  been  a  gambler — I 
don't  say  ez  he  wasn't — but,  my  fren's.  Poker 
Jim  was  a  gentleman,  an'  he  died  hke  one, 
d — d  ef  he  didn't!"  And  Dixie  looked  about 
him  defiantly,  as  though  challenging  dissent 
and  stamping  it  as  hazardous. 

A  white  head-board,  rather  more  pretentious 


78  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEMAN 

than  was  the  prevaihng  fashion  in  Jacksonville, 
was  erected  at  Jim's  grave.  I  was  consulted 
regarding  an  epitaph,  but  could  find  no  fault 
with  the  rudely  carved  inscription  suggested 
by  Dixie — 

''here  lies  the  body 

OF 

poker  JIM — gentleman." 


A  few  days  later,  the  flood  had  subsided 
sufficiently  to  warrant  an  attempt  at  crossing 
the  river.  Having  succeeded  in  procuring  a 
large  boat  from  one  of  the  neighboring  towns, 
a  party  of  us  crossed  over  to  Toppy's  cabin  in 
quest  of  Jim's  family. 

There  had  been  no  sign  of  fife  about  the 
place  since  the  day  of  Jim's  death,  hence  I  was 
not  surprised  to  find  the  cabin  empty.  Not  a 
trace  of  the  dead  man's  wife  or  child  could  be 
found!  Nor  were  they  ever  heard  of  again. 
Whether  the  poor  httle  woman  had  witnessed 
the  disaster  that  made  her  a  widow,  and  the 
raging  Tuolumne  had  received  the  sorrowing, 
despairing  mother  and  her  innocent  child, 
we  never  knew.  I  have  always  entertained 
a  vague  hope  that  Jim  had  already  conveyed 


POKER  JIM,  GEx\TLEMAN  79 

them  to  a  place  of  safety  when  he  met  his  death. 

As  oui'  party  was  searching  the  cabin  for 
clews  to  the  disappearance  of  Jim's  family, 
Big  Brown  found  upon  a  shelf  in  the  Httle 
cupboard  where  Toppy's  rather  primitive  supply 
of  dishes  was  kept,  a  letter,  carefully  sealed, 
and  addressed  to  me.  He  handed  me  the 
letter,  and  I  fancied  his  voice  trembled  a  httle 
as  he  said — 

"Well,  Doc,  Jim  never  forgot  his  fren's.  I 
don't  know  what  Toppy  '11  say  when  he  gits 
back  ter  town." 

"Poor  Toppy,"  I  said,  "It  will  grieve  him 
sorely,  when  he  learns  that  the  gallant  Jim  is 
gone  forever." 

The  burly  miner  watched  me  curiouslj^  as 
I  opened  and  read  the  letter.  The  expression  of 
my  face  as  I  read  must  have  startled  him,  for  he 
grasped  me  by  the  arm  and  exclaimed,  "What's 
the  matter.  Doc;  air  y'u  sick?"  I  handed 
him  the  letter  and  staggered  to  a  chau\ 

Big  Brown  laboriously  read  the  letter  through 
to  the  end.  ^Mien  he  came  to  the  signature 
he  put  his  huge  hand  gently  on  my  shoulder 
and  said: 

"Doc,  ye  needn't  be  ashamed  uv  relations 


80  POKER  JIM,  GENTLEIVIAN 

like  him,  even  if  he  was  a  gambler.     Who  was 
he,  anyhow?" 

And  I  was  not  ashamed  as  I  answered — 

*'My  brother— Httle  Jim." 


TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 


''Hello,  Fido!" 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir;  did  you  speak  to  me?" 
''Why,  don't  you  know  me,  Fido?" 
"Great  heavens!  Toromy  Baker,  as  I'm  alive! 
Why,  what  on  earth — ?" 

"I  don't  wonder  that  you  are  surprised,  Fido, 
old  boy — for  I'm  not  the  same  Thomas  Baker 
as  of  yore.  Four  years  away  from  the  old  farm 
have  wrought  great  changes  in  me.  Four  years 
of  life  in  a  large  city,  with  its  ups  and  downs, 
its  luxuries  and  its  hardships,  are  enough  to 
demoralize  anybody.  And  still,  you  look  sleek 
and  comfortable  enough." 

"Oh,  thank  you.  Tommy,"  replied  Fido,  "I 
am  doing  tolerably  well,  that's  a  fact.  You  see, 
I'm  living  with  Mrs.  Geeswillem — she's  the 
wife  of  old  Geeswillem  the  brewer,  you  know, 
who  bought  me  just  after  you  ran  away  from 
home.  I've  got  a  mighty  soft  job,  and  don't 
you  forget  it.  I  have  only  one  complaint  to 
make,  and  that  is  that  my  mistress  insists  on 
making  me  wear  this  measly  red  blanket,  and 

81 


82  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

this  stiff  collar  with  its  confounded  bells.  Then, 
too,  I  have  to  ride  out  with  her  every  pleasant 
afternoon,  and  she  stuffs  me  with  hon  bons  and 
such  truck  until  I  feel  like  a  corner  in  sugar 
stock.  Why,  Tommy,  old  chap — do — you — 
know — I  haven't  even  smelled  sl  rat  since  I 
took  my  present  place!" 

"Ah,  me!"  said  Tommy,  "I  haven't  had  many 
chances  to  smell  anything  else  for  the  last  two 
years,  and  the  rats  I  have  had,  haven't  been  the 
corn-fed  article  we  used  to  hunt  together  down 
at  Baker's  farm,  I  can  tell  you.  How  I  miss 
'em!  And  the  cream,  and  buttermilk,  and 
sausages  and — " 

"Great  Scott!  Tommy,"  cried  Fido,  "don't 
ever  mention  sausage  to  me  again !  If  you  only 
knew — !" 

"Pardon  me,  Fido.  In  my  glowing  recollec- 
tion of  pleasures  past,  I  forgot  that  you  have 
been  living  in  the  city  for  some  time  and  have 
probably  long  since  discovered  that  all  is  not 
gold  that  glitters.  There's  many  a  tragedy  im- 
prisoned within  the  cover  of  the  city  sausage. 
And  yet,  Fido,  such  reflections  should  be  valu- 
able to  you  as  inculcating  a  lesson  of  Christian 
humility.  If  this  be  not  enough,  look  at  me, 
and  think  how  ephemeral  is  terrestrial  glory.     I 


TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST  83 

was  once  as  thou  art — fat,  pampered,  happy,  and 
with  never  a  thought  of  the  morrow.  Ah,  my 
boy !  who  can  control  his  own  destiny ;  who  can 
govern  the  mysterious  workings  of  fate?" 

''Well,  Tommy,"  said  Fido,  ''you  evidently 
haven't  regulated  yours  to  any  large  extent.  If 
you  have,  you'd  better  let  somebody  else  take 
the  job,  for  you  don't  seem  to  be  making  a 
briUiant  success  of  it.  But  tell  me,  what  has 
brought  you  to  this?  You  were  as  sleek  and 
dandified  a  fellow  as  ever  wore  whiskers  when 
I  saw  you  last.  Don't  you  remember  the  time 
the  boys  got  up  that  serenade  for  you  and  sang 
'Oh  he's  a  dude,  a  dandy  dude !'  until  the  roofs 
were  covered  with  boot  jacks  a  foot  deep? 
Whew!  but  weren't  you  mad  though?" 

"Heigho !"  sighed  Tommy,  "if  anybody  should 
serenade  me  in  that  fashion  nowada3^s,  I  don't 
think  I  could  accuse  him  of  being  personal — I 
look  like  'the  last  run  o'  shad.'  But  you  have 
asked  me  for  my  history  since  we  were  on  the 
farm  together.  If  you  have  patience  to  listen 
to  the  yarn  of  a  miserable  outcast,  I'll  gladly 
tell  you  my  story.  My  appearance  makes  it 
unnecessary  for  me  to  remark  that  I  am  no  lon- 
ger Thomas  Baker,  Esquire,  but  Tommy  the 
Tramp,  as  the  haughty  young  Duchesse  de  Mai- 


84  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

tesa,  who  lives  in  the  next  block,  calls  me,  and 
you  are  likely  to  lose  caste  if  you  are  seen  talk- 
ing with  me  in  pubhc.  Let's  make  a  sneak 
into  the  alley  over  yonder.  There's  a  big  dry- 
goods  box  over  there  behind  that  brick  barn 
where  we  can  talk  without  fear  of  interrup- 
tion." 

*'Why,  Tommy  Baker!"  said  Fido  indignant- 
ly, drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  his  eyes 
flashing  fire.  ''What  do  you  take  me  for — a 
man?  I'll  have  you  to  understand  that  I  never 
went  back  on  a  friend  in  my  life.  Do  you  suppose 
I  care  a  straw  for  other  people's  opinions?  Not 
a  bit  of  it!  I'm  all  wool  and  a  jsu'd  wide,  and 
don't  you  forget  it.  If  it  wasn't  necessary  to 
wear  this  dandy  trash  in  order  to  hold  my  job, 
I'd  tear  it  off  in  a  holy  minute.  Not  another 
word,  sir ! — or  I'll  roll  in  the  mud  and  prove  to 
you  that  I  am  your  old  pard — semper  fidelis,  and 
all  that — even  if  I  go  to  the  pound  for  it." 

"Dear  old  Fido !"  cried  Tommy,  his  eyes  filHng 
with  tears«  ''You  are  indeed  worthy  of  your 
name.  Greater  love  than  this  hath  no  dog,  that 
he  loseth  his  job  for  a  friend.  But,  old  fellow,  to 
be  candid  with  you,  I  don't  feel  as  easy  as  I 
might.  An  awful  accident  happened  this  morn- 
ing to  some  dear,  sweet,  tender  little  chickens  in 


TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST  85 

that  big  yard  on  the  corner,  and  while  my  lean 
and  hungry  appearance  shows  my  innocence 
only  too  plainly,  it's  best  not  to  take  any 
chances.  Besides,  I  couldn't  talk  freely  in  this 
public  place." 

''Well,  Tommy,"  said  Fido,  ''if  that's  the  way 
you  feel,  we  will  do  as  you  suggest.  So  far  as 
the  chickens  are  concerned,  however,  I  don't 
think  you  need  any  X  ray  to  prove  an  ahbi." 
And  Fido  glanced  pityingly  at  poor  Tommy's 
spectre-like  frame  and  diaphanous  hide. 

"A  Uttle  slower,  please,"  said  Tommy,  as  he 
limped  along  after  his  friend.  "You  see,  my 
left  fore-foot  is  a  bit  lame — I  cut  it  on  a  piece 
of  broken  glass  the  other  night.  There's  a  lot  of 
miserable,  depraved  medical  students  in  a  board- 
ing house  over  on  Ashland  Boulevard,  who 
amuse  themselves  by  throwing  beer  bottles  at 
respectable  people  on  the  roofs.  They  never 
throw  any  full  ones  at  a  fellow  though,  you  can 
just  bet  on  that.  It  isn't  really  safe  to  venture 
out  on  a  roof  after  dark  in  that  neighborhood. 
Why,  those  cruel  devils  struck  a  lady  friend  of 
mine,  Mrs.  Felida  Black,  the  other  night,  and 
almost  broke  her  tail  off!" 

"Horrible!"  cried  Fido.  "Why  is  it  that 
those  two-legged  brutes  can't  be  suppressed? 


86  TOMIVIY  THE  OUTCAST 

Well,  that  comes  of  being  born  without  a  soul. 
Such  fellows  really  don't  know  any  better.  There 
is  a  so-called  Humane  Society  here,  the  business 
of  which  is  to  look  after  decent  four-footed 
people,  but  it  doesn't  do  much  but  pay  big 
salaries  to  its  officers.  The  society  winks  when- 
ever a  ragamuffin  throws  a  brickbat  at  a  fellow, 
but  just  let  some  doctor  operate  on  us  under 
chloroform  and — My  God !  Tommy,  old  fellow, 
what's  the  matter?  Here,  lean  on  my  shoulder. 
Never  mind  the  blanket — ^who  cares  for  that?" 

"It's  nothing,  Fido,  just  a  little  temporary 
faintness,  that's  all.  You  see,  I — well,  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it  by  and  by." 

''Well,  Tommy,  your  dry-goods  box  is  quite 
cozy,  after  all." 

''I  fear  it  hardly  comes  up  to  your  usual  ac- 
commodations," replied  Tommy,  ''but  it  is  at 
least  safe,  and  that's  a  very  important  point 
with  me.  Take  a  seat  on  that  piece  of  carpet 
over  yonder ;  it's  clean  and  may  be  homelike  to 
you.  I?  Oh,  this  straw  will  do  for  me.  It's  a 
trifle  musty,  but  we  can't  be  too  particular  in 
these  democratic  times.   Are  you  comfortable?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  repUed  Fido.  "You  must 
remember  that  I  am  a  country  dog  in  spite  of 
my  cloth." 


TOMlVn-  THE  OUTCAST  87 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Tommy,  "not  being 
habituated  to  that  nasty  tobacco  used  by  hu- 
mans, we  will  not  light  a  w^eed  first.  I  will  begin 
my  story  without  any  such  offensive  prelimi- 
nary. 

''As  you  are  well  aware,  my  dear  Fido,  I 
was  a  decent  enough  fellow  in  my  youth,  save 
for  my  somewhat  foppish  tendencies.  Being — 
ahem! — a  rather  handsome  chap,  you  will 
recollect  that  I  was  quite  popular  with  the  ladies. 
As  is  usually  the  case  with  such  young  fellows, 
I  was  at  first  pampered  and  then — spoiled.  I 
remember  with  keen  remorse  that  practically 
all  my  friends  eventually  became  estranged 
from  me  through  my  self-conceit.  You  alone 
were  loyal,  and  always  ready  to  defend  and  ad- 
vise me.  As  for  my  own  family — they  had  long 
since  ceased  to  recognize  me  when  I  left  the  old 
place. 

"It  was  the  old  story — I  became  very  un- 
happy, and  felt  that  no  one  understood  or  ap- 
preciated me.  I  did  not  have  sense  enough  to 
understand  that  it  was  my  own  failings  that  had 
caused  me  to  lose  my  former  popularity.  I  be- 
lieved that  the  coldness  of  my  friends  was  due 
to  their  jealousy  and  mahcious  envy. 

"It  was  not  long  before  I  determined,  with  an 


88  TOMINIY  THE  OUTCAST 

'I'll  show  'em'  desire  for  revenge,  that  I  would 
leave  the  old  farm  at  the  first  opportunity,  and 
seek  a  field  where  my  talents  would  be  appre- 
ciated at  their  true  value.  And  then  came  the 
tempter. 

''One  day  while  you  were  away  with  httle 
Tod  Baker  on  a  fishing  excursion,  I  received  a 
call  from  Pete  Tucker  of  Posyville — I  don't 
think  you  ever  met  him.  Pete  had  seen  a  good 
deal  of  the  world,  and  his  stories  of  adventure 
were  perfectly  fascinating  to  me.  He  had  been 
to  sea  several  times,  had  spent  a  couple  of  sea- 
sons doing  the  happy  family  act  with  a  circus 
and,  at  the  time  of  his  visit  to  me,  was  living  in 
Chicago — having  come  home  for  a  few  days' 
vacation.  He  said  a  great  deal  about  the  pleas- 
ures of  city  fife,  and  informed  me  that  he  had 
a  most  delightful  situation  where  he  mingled 
with  the  best  society  and  had  very  httle  to  do 
to  earn  what  he  described  as  an  enormous  salary. 

"  Tommy,  my  boy,'  he  said,  slapping  me 
famiharly  on  the  shoulder,  'you  are  a  blamed 
fool  to  bury  yourself  out  here  in  the  coimtry! 
Come  back  to  the  city  with  me,  and  I'll  get  you 
a  nice  soft  berth  where  you  can  make  something 
of  yourself.'    I  yielded  only  too  readily  to  the 


TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST  89 

tempter  and  long  before  you  returned  home,  my 
dear  Fido,  I  was  on  my  way  to  Chicago. 

"I  had  never  before  been  in  a  large  city, 
hence  Chicago  unfolded  a  new  world  to  me — a 
world  that  seemed  as  fair  as  I  have  since  found 
it  to  be  corrupt. 

'Tete  had  told  me  the  truth,  in  some  respects, 
regarding  his  situation.  He  was  employed  as 
chief  mouser  in  the  bar-room  of  a  fashionable 
hotel,  and  living  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  I  was 
soon  installed  as  assistant  mouser,  the  rat  de- 
partment being  under  the  management  of  a 
terrier  gentleman  named  Foxy.  And  now  came 
my  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  office-hold- 
ing 

"It  was  with  all  the  honest  enthusiasm  of 
youth  that  I  began  my  duties,  and  without 
noting  the  methods  of  my  superiors  in  office  I 
worked  hard  day  and  night  in  the  conscientious 
effort  to  secure  the  approbation  of  my  employ- 
ers. Pete  and  Foxy  observed  my  industry  with 
great  curiosity  at  first,  and  then  seemed  to  be 
somewhat  amused  by  my  actions.  I  finally  dis- 
covered that  they  were  actually  laughing  at 
me.  This  bewildered  me,  and  I  finally  ventured 
to  ask  for  an  explanation. 

"  'Ha!  ha!  ha!'  laughed  my  colleagues.  'What 


90  TOMIVIY  THE  OUTCAST 

a  young  innocent  it  is,  to  be  sure!'  'Why/  said 
Pete,  'you  couldn't  see  through  a  millstone  with 
a  hole  in  it !  We  used  to  work  ourselves  to  death 
just  as  you  are  doing,  but  we've  got  a  little 
sense  nowadays,  eh,  Foxy?' 

"  'You  bet  your  boots,  pardner!'  replied  the 
terrier. 

''  'Now,  see  here.  Tommy,'  continued  Pete, 
'I'll  tell  you  just  how  the  thing  stands.  We 
found  out  long  ago  that  hard  work  didn't  pay, 
and  made  up  our  minds  to  do  as  little  work  and 
have  as  good  a  time  as  we  possibly  could. 

"  'Among  the  patrons  of  this  place  is  a  num- 
ber of  politicians  and  policemen.  I  tell  you 
what.  Tommy,  those  are  the  boys  who  are  on 
to  their  jobs!  Chancing  to  overhear  some  of 
their  conversation  at  various  times,  I  speedily 
discovered  that  I  was  making  a  blamed  fool  of 
myself.  I  then  resolved  to  hold  my  job  just  as 
politicians  and  policemen  do. 

"  'Foxy  and  I  have  come  to  an  understanding 
with  our  rodent  friends,  and  with  a  Httle  care 
on  their  part,  we  have  managed  to  avoid  all 
suspicion  that  we  are  not  attending  strictly  to 
business. 

"  'Once  in  a  while  I  pick  up  a  dead  rat  or 
mouse  in  the  alley  somewhere,  and  leave  him 


TOMIVn^  THE  OUTCAST  91 

around  where  the  old  man  is  sure  to  notice  him — 
see?  Sometimes  a  strange  rodent  blows  in  here, 
and  forgets  to  bring  his  pull  with  him,  and  we 
nail  him  to  the  earth  in  great  shape.  I  tell  you 
what.  Tommy,  work  was  never  made  for  gentle- 
men— and  Foxy  and  I  are  gents  from  way  back. 
We've  got  a  soft  thing  here,  and  you're  in  on  it. 
Plenty  to  eat,  drink  enough  to  float  a  ship,  and 
a  soft  warm  bed.  What  more  could  anybody 
ask?' 

"Alas!  Fido,  old  friend,  how  alluring  to  un- 
wary youth  is  gilded  temptation!  I  followed 
the  dishonest  advice  of  my  companions  and  fell 
into  their  e\dl  ways,  and  Uke  most  young  per- 
sons of  httle  experience,  I  was  soon  anxious  to 
outdo  my  models  in  the  extent  and  variety  of 
my  dissipation.  I  ate,  drank  and  made  merry 
with  all  the  abandon  of  an  old  timer. 

"The  example  of  my  associates,  bad  as  it  was, 
could  not  be  compared  with  that  set  for  me  by 
some  of  the  two-legged  patrons  of  the  place. 
Pete  may  have  been  right  about  their  social  po- 
sition, but  of  all  the  vulgar,  profane,  beastly  fel- 
lows I  ever  saw,  the  young  bloods  who  frequent- 
ed that  bar  were  the  worst.  But  my  prejudices 
were  soon  overcome,  and  I  came  to  beheve  that 
such  quaUties  were  absolutely  essential  to  fellow- 


92  TOMJMY  THE  OUTCAST 

ship  in  the  smart  set  of  a  great  city.  And  so  I 
continued  in  my  evil  ways,  my  life  being  one 
continual  round  of  hilarious  and  intemperate 
pleasure. 

'The  outcome  was  precisely  what  was  to  have 
been  expected.  I  fell  seriously  ill,  and  had  it  not 
been  for  a  splendid  constitution  derived  from  my 
early  life  in  the  country,  I  most  certainly  would 
have  died.  I  finally  became  convalescent  and 
was  speculating  on  how  soon  I  would  Hkely  be 
able  to  get  to  business  again,  when  an  unlooked 
for  complication  set  in.  I  caught  the  mange,  and 
in  a  few  weeks  was  a  perfect  fright.  My  hide 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  plucked  out  in  spots.  It 
was  not  long  before  some  of  the  patrons  of  the 
place  noticed  my  condition  and  commented  sar- 
castically upon  it  to  my  employer.  One  man 
said  I  ought  to  go  to  the  Springs  and  boil  out, 
whatever  that  may  mean. 

"I  received  but  little  consolation  from  Pete 
and  Fox>";  indeed,  they  were  quite  shy  of  me 
after  my  skin  trouble  developed,  and,  as  you 
might  suppose,  my  life  was  most  miserable. 

"But  my  troubles  had  only  begun.  A  short 
time  after  this  I  overheard  my  employer  con- 
versing with  a  rough-looking  man,  who  used  to 
hang  about  the  place  doing  odd  jobs  for  drinks. 


TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST  93 

To  my  consternation,  the  boss  was  making  ar- 
rangements with  that  infamous  rowdy  to  take 
my  Hfe  that  very  night !  I  hstened  to  the  foul 
plot  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth.  I  nearly 
fainted,  so  great  was  my  horror  and  agitation. 
What  to  do  I  hardly  knew  at  first.  I  no  longer 
had  confidence  in  Pete  and  Foxy,  and  would 
not  ask  their  advice.  I  finally  determined  to 
try  to  make  my  escape  before  the  fatal  moment 
should  arrive. 

''Evening  came,  and  with  it  my  opportunity 
to  escape.  Just  at  dusk,  before  the  gas  was  light- 
ed, I  sneaked  out  of  the  alley  door  between  the 
heels  of  a  customer,  and  arriving  in  the  open  air, 
ran  as  fast  as  my  trembling  legs  could  carry  me 
until  I  reached  a  part  of  the  city  far  distant 
from  the  hotel  where  my  would-be  assassins  were 
probably  even  then  searching  for  their  intended 
victim. 

'Tor  some  weeks  after  my  escape,  I  led  a 
paw-to-mouth  existence.  Half-starved,  de- 
spondent, set  upon  by  strange  dogs,  stoned  by 
cruel  vicious  boys — I  often  regretted  that  I 
had  not  permitted  my  life  to  be  taken  by  that 
ruffian  at  the  hotel.  He  would  have  drowned 
me,  most  likely,  and  death  by  drowning  would 
have  been  far  pleasanter  than  the  life  I  sub- 


94  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

sequently  led.  You  may  wonder  why  I  did 
not  commit  suicide,  but  frankly,  I  hadn't  cour- 
age enough  for  that.  Some  folks  say  that 
only  cowards  commit  suicide,  but  don't  you 
ever  believe  it. 

"The  horror  of  my  transition  from  the  easy 
life  at  the  hotel  to  that  of  a  homeless,  despised 
wanderer,  was  something  of  which  you  can 
have  no  conception,  my  dear  Fido,  and  I  sin- 
cerely hope  you  may  never  pass  through  so 
terrible  an  experience  as  I  had  at  that  time 
and  have  been  having  since  I — but  I  am  get- 
ting ahead   of  my   story. 

''I  don't  know  how  I  lived  through  the  ter- 
rible ordeal  of  starvation  and  abuse  to  which 
I  was  subjected.  I  was  inexperienced  and 
very  sensitive  to  hardships.  Nothing  could 
disturb  me  now,  but  then  —  ah  me!  How 
tender  is  youth ! 

"After  some  weeks  of  terrible  privation  and 
physical  torture,  I  began  to  beheve  that  the 
fates  were  against  me,  when  the  tide  of  my 
affairs  unexpectedly   turned. 

"I  had  crawled  into  an  open  basement  win- 
dow in  the  rear  of  a  modest  and  unpretentious- 
looking  house  over  on  Adams  Street  one  stormy 
night,  hoping  to  find  something  to  satisfy  my 


TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST  95 

terrible  hunger.  To  my  despair,  everything 
was  under  lock  and  key.  Noticing  a  number 
of  rat  holes  about,  I  determined  to  make  an 
attempt  to  capture  a  rodent  or  two  for  my 
supper,  and  posted  myself  at  the  hole  that 
looked   most  promising. 

''Game  was  scarce;  in  my  then  weakened 
state  my  vigil  was  too  fatiguing  and  I  fell 
asleep  at  my  post.  When  I  finally  awoke  I 
was  horrified  to  find  myself  in  the  hands  of  a 
woman ! 

''You  better  beUeve  I  was  frightened!  Why, 
my  dear  Fido,  I  never  had  such  a  scare  in 
my  Ufe.  But  fortunately  I  had  no  cause  for 
alarm;  my  captor — ^who  proved  to  be  the  cook — 
w^as  most  kind  to  me.  She  took  me  up  stairs 
to  the  kitchen  and  gave  me  a  good,  substan- 
tial meal  and  a  warm,  soft  bed.  For  the  first 
time  in  many  weeks  I  passed  a  comfortable 
night,  free  from  the  pangs  of  hunger  and  un- 
rest. 

"When  morning  came,  I  of  course  supposed 
I  would  be  told  to  go.  To  my  delight  I  was 
not  only  given  a  sumptuous  breakfast,  but 
nothing  was  said  about  my  departure,  and 
I  began  to  hope  that  I  might  be  able  to  secure 
a   permanent   position   with   the   family. 


96  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

''After  I  had  finished  my  breakfast,  the 
cook  disappeared  for  a  few  moments.  She 
soon  retm'ned  accompanied  by  two  children, 
whom  she  called  Johnny  and  Ethel.  They 
spoke  to  me  kindly,   and  Ethel  said: 

**  'Oh,  Johnny,  let's  ask  mamma  if  we  can't 
keep  the  poor  thing !' 

"  'Let's  do,'  cried  Johnny,  delightedly,  'and  I'll 
ask  papa  to  give  us  some  liniment  for  him,  too, 
he  looks  just  like  he  was  havin'  the  measles.' 

"  'Pshaw!  me  darhnts,'  said  the  cook,  *d'ye 
shpose  yer  pa  '11  be  afther  docthorin'  cats?* 

"  'Of  course  he  will,'  replied  Ethel,  'didn't  he 
fix  WilUe  Thompson's  dog  when  he  broke  his 
leg?' 

"Sure  enough,  my  dear  Fido,  the  children's 
papa  was  a  doctor,  and  he  soon  cured  my  skin 
trouble.  After  I  was  myself  again,  there  was 
no  longer  any  danger  of  being  asked  to  leave, 
for  the  children  became  very  fond  of  me;  even 
the  baby  seemed  to  take  a  great  fancy  to  me. 

"I  got  along  famously  with  the  children, 
although  they  were  a  little  rough  at  times. 
Johnny  was  somewhat  incUned  to  be  gay 
once  in  a  while,  but  I  came  out  all  right.  I 
remember  one  close  call  I  had,  though.  Ethel 
wanted  to  play  I  was  sick  one  day,  and  that 


TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST  97 

Johnny  was  a  doctor.  They  gave  me  some 
of  the  worst  stuff  a  fellow  ever  tasted — just 
held  me  and  poured  it  down  my  neck !  Then 
Master  Johnny  suddenly  discovered  that  I  had 
'tonsillitis,'  whatever  that  is.  He'd  heard  his 
papa  use  the  word,  I  s'pose.  I  must  be  'op- 
erated,' the  little  rascal  said,  and  going  into 
the  doctor's  surgery  he  got  a  vicious  looking 
instrument.  Ethel  held  me,  and  the  amateur 
doctor  proceeded  to  plunge  his  devilish  con- 
trivance down  my  throat!  After  fishing  up  a 
few  chunks  of  spleen,  and  liver,  and  things, 
Johnny  let  me  go,  sa5dng,  'Madam,  your  child 
will  get  well  now.'  I  did  get  well,  but  my  in- 
ternal revenue  and  things  have  never  since  felt 
just  right. 

"But  Johnny  was  my  friend  just  the  same. 
Gosh ! — how  he  did  lick  a  rude,  vulgar  boy  who 
threw  stones  at  me  one  day!  'Twould  have 
done  your  heart  good   to  see  him. 

"Ethel  and  I  used  to  have  some  awfully 
nice  times  together.  She  used  to  dress  me  up 
in  doll's  clothes  and  play  I  was  a  baby.  And 
then  she  would  put  me  in  a  little  cradle  and 
rock  me  to  sleep.  The  dear  child  used  to  be 
so  pleased  because  I  lay  so  still,  and  she  used 
to  say  I  was  'a  dear,  good,  sweet  httle  kitty.' 


98  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

To  tell  the  truth,  though,  I  just  had  to  He  still, 
for  those  long  clothes  used  to  trip  me  up  every 
time  I  tried  to  walk.  I  did  try  "to  sneak  away 
one  time,  and  fell  down  stairs  and  almost 
broke  my  neck. 

**But  the  baby  was  my  special  dehght.  He  was 
a  fat,  roly-poly,  sweet  faced  youngster  as  ever 
you  saw.  His  skin  was  hke  a  pink  rose-leaf,  and 
his  mouth  was  as  fresh — ^well,  as  fresh  as  new 
milk.  Whenever  the  folks  weren't  looking,  I 
used  to  cUmb  into  the  crib  and  little  Harry  and 
I  would  have  a  high  old  time,  I  tell  you.  He 
would  maul  me  about  for  a  httle  while  and  then 
hug  and  kiss  me  just  awful  nice.  And  then  when 
we'd  got  all  tired  out  he  would  snuggle  up  close 
to  me  and  go  to  sleep — and  I  would  He  there 
quite  still  and  watch  him  while  he  slept. 

'The  folks  would  catch  me  in  the  crib  some- 
times, and  whew  I  but  then  there  was  a  row,  and 
no  mistake!  They  used  to  just  paralyze  me — 
said  I'd  suck  the  baby's  breath,  you  know.  The 
stupids!  Why  should  I  do  that?  I  hke  babies, 
but  lunching  on  babyfied  air  wouldn't  do  me  in 
those  days,  though  it  might  be  substantial 
enough  now.  Human  folks  have  some  queer 
notions,  eh,  Fido?" 

"Oh,  well,  you  know.  Tommy,"  said  Fido, 


TOMIMY  THE  OUTCAST  99 

"that  out-of-date  'sucking  the  breath'  business 
is  an  old  woman's  notion,  but  humans  don't 
seem  to  have  much  judgment.  They  still  be- 
lieve in  miracles  and  all  that,  and  the  breath- 
sucking  theory  shouldn't  surprise  you." 

''Speaking  of  the  peculiarities  of  humanity, 
Fido,"  said  Tommy,  "isn't  it  queer  that  humans 
don't  hke  music?" 

"Yes,  I  have  often  noted  the  fact,  on  oc- 
casions when  I  have  sung  to  the  moon,"  re- 
plied Fido. 

"Well,"  said  Tommy,  "the  folks  at  the  doc- 
tor's house  used  to  play  on  an  old  rattle-box  of 
a  piano  till  they  fairly  made  me  sick,  but  just  let 
me  sing  ever  so  little  and  there  was  trouble  at 
once.  You  will  recall  that  in  the  old  days  I 
used  to  be  quite  proud  of  my  voice.  I  supposed 
that  I  had  some  vocal  talent  left  and  I  have  done 
a  Httle  singing  since  I  came  to  the  city.  I  fear 
however,  that  my  voice  is  not  appreciated  here. 
My  city  neighbors  were  the  worst  kind  of  kick- 
ers, and  caused  me  no  end  of  trouble.  You  see, 
there  was  a  young  lady  cat  who  hved  near  us 
and — By  the  way,  I  didn't  tell  you  about  how  I 
first  fell  in  love,  did  I?  Well,  it  was  just — the — 
richest — thing !" — 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  exclaimed  Fido,  hast- 


100  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

ily  interrupting,  ''but  just  hear  that  bell.  It's 
nine  o'clock  and — " 

''Oh,  well,  I  was  digressing  anyway,"  said 
Tommy. 

"As  I  was  saying,  there  was  a  young  lady  cat 
living  near  us  with  whom  I  will  confess  I  was 
somewhat  smitten.  I  used  to  call  on  her  even- 
ings. I  was  too  busy  to  call  day-times,  and  be- 
sides, a  tin  roof  is  just  awful  on  a  fellow's  feet 
when  the  sun's  out.  I  often  used  to  serenade  her, 
accompanying  my  singing  with  the  violin.  She 
was  very  fond  of  stringed  instruments,  and  es- 
pecially the  violin.  She  used  to  say  there  was 
no  musical  instrument  that  was  so  cat-like  and 
natural  in  its  tone  and  feeling.  The  dear  girl — 
what  exquisite  musical  taste  she  had !  All !  how 
I  loved  her !  Why,  I  felt,  when  in  her  presence, 
as  though  I  were  full  of  vibrating  E  strings — au 
naturel,  but  none  the  less  vibrating.  And  I 
mind  me  well  that  she  was  not  unresponsive. 
Shall  I  ever  forget  that  mellow  September  night 
when  she  first  confessed  she  loved  me?  *Ah! 
Thomaso,'  she  cried — (Thomaso,  by  the  way, 
was  a  feminine  conceit  of  hers;  she  had  been 
abroad,  you  know) — 'Ah!  Thomaso,  how  bleak 
and  drear  were  the  most  pretentious  roof  with- 
out thee!  Where  is  there  such  another  form,  or 


TOMIMY  THE  OUTCAST  101 

voice  so  sweet  as  thine?  The  girl  who  did  not 
love  thee  would  be  lost  to  all  appreciation  of 
the  fehne  form  di\'ine.  I  love  thee,  Thomaso,  oh, 
how  I  love  thee!' 

"Of  course,  I  blushed,  my  dear  Fido — I  knew 
only  too  well  how  undeserving  I  w^as. 

"But,  to  quote  an  old  chestnut,  the  course  of 
true  love  was  by  no  means  smooth  with  me.  It 
chanced  that  the  attic  room  of  the  house  next 
to  the  one  in  which  my  charmer  lived,  was  oc- 
cupied by  a  young  man  named  Jenkins.  Now 
that  fellow  Jenkins  had  the  fool  notion  that  he 
was  musical.  That  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad, 
though  his  singing  was  \dle,  but  he  wanted  to 
monopolize  the  singing  business  altogether.  You 
never  saw  such  an  envious  brute!  Just  as  soon 
as  I  began  my  lovely  serenades,  that  despicable 
counter-jumper  would  begin  throwing  old  boots 
and  chunks  of  coal  at  me.  But  I  kept  my  temper 
and  said  nothing,  though  I  was  mad  enough  to 
claw  the  face  off  him. 

"Not  content  with  his  vicious  assaults,  the 
murderous  brute  finally  attempted  to  assassin- 
ate me,  and  very  nearly  succeeded.  I  had  com- 
posed a  madrigal  for  my  sweetheart,  and  had 
just  finished  singing  it  to  her  one  evening  when 
that  caUco-vending  dude  fired  at  me  with  a  pistol 


102  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

and  narrowly  missed  cutting  me  off  in  the  flower 
of  my  youth.  The  ball  lodged  in  my  shoulder, 
and  gave  me  no  end  of  trouble.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  a  cold-blooded  attempt  to — " 

"Pardon  me,  Tommy,"  said  Fido,  ''but  what 
was  the  song  like?" 

''Let  me  see;"  said  Tommy,  "perhaps  I  can 
remember  it.   Oh  yes,  it  ran  like  this : 

"  'When  the  silvery  moon  doth  brightly  beam, 
after  the  toil  of  day  is  done,  how  fair  my  darling 
dost  thou  seem,  as  thou  climb'' st  the  fence,  or  on 
the  ridge-pole  swiftly  run.  Thy  form  is  sylph- 
like in  its  grace;  thy  voice  seraphic  sweet  and  low; 
how  soft  the  whiskers  on  thy  face,  that  in  the 
moonbeams  brightly  glow. 

"  'Miow,  miow,  miow,  miow,  'iow,  How,  How!' " 

"Um-ah, — "  said  Fido.  "Your  song  has 
one  very  admirable  feature — it  has  but  one 
verse.  I  am  not  sure,  however,  but  that  I 
shall  have  to  acquit  the  young  man  who  shot 
you.  Self  defense,  you  know,  my  dear  Tommy 
is—" 

"Oh,  stow  your  sarcasm,  Fido!"  cried  Tom- 
my. "It  isn't  at  all  becoming  to  you,  my  boy. 
If  you  don't  want  to  hear  the  rest  of  my  story, 
just  say  so." 

"Oh,  well.  Tommy,  you  mustn't  be  so  sen- 


TOMIVIY  THE  OUTCAST  103 

sitive  to  the  raillery  of  an  old  friend.  Go  on 
with  your  yarn.     It  is  highly  interesting." 

''Well,  as  I  was  saying,  the  ball  lodged  in 
my  shoulder  and  nearly  killed  me.  I  was 
sick  a  long  time,  and  the  doctor  finally  took 
me  to  a  veterinary  for  consultation.  Of  course 
I  couldn't  say  anything  about  the  bullet — 
on  the  lady's  account  you  know — so  the  doctor 
was  stumped  for  once.  The  veterinary  pounded 
me  black  and  blue  from  head  to  foot,  and 
after  gouging  my  belly  full  of  finger  holes, 
said  —  'He's  got  appendicitis,  and  we  will 
have  to  operate.'  That  settled  me — I  just 
jumped  through  the  window,  sash  and  all, 
and  weak  as  I  was,  succeeded  in  escaping. 
A  man  who  doesn't  know  lead  poisoning  from 
appendicitis,  can't  monkey  with  Tommy  Ba- 
ker's domestic  economy,  you  can  just  bet 
your  life  on  that! 

'Through  the  kindly  offices  of  one  of  my 
friends  I  succeeded  in  getting  accommoda- 
tions in  a  stable  near  by,  where  I  lived  on  mice 
and  wind  for  three  weeks,  at  the  end  of  which 
time  my  wound  was  entkely  well.  I  had  more 
wind  than  mice  on  my  stomach  most  of  the 
time,  but  the  dieting  evidently  did  me  good. 
I  finally  went  home,  and  you  never  saw  such 


104  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

rejoicing  as  there  was  among  the  children. 
They  hugged  me  'most  to  death. 

''The  doctor  was  always  kind  to  me,  but 
at  times  his  attentions  were  quite  marked. 
He  often  kept  me  in  a  little  room  by  myself 
for  days  and  days  at  a  time.  He  fed  me  with 
his  own  hand,  and  was  very  careful  of  my 
health.  He  took  my  temperature  and  pulse, 
and  looked  at  my  tongue  twice  a  day.  Some- 
times he  put  a  little  needle  in  my  back  and 
seemed  to  be  squirting  something  under  the 
skin.  It  didn't  hurt  much,  but  I  felt  mighty 
funny  a  little  while  afterward.  Queer,  wasn't 
it?" 

Fido,  who  had  had  diphtheria  once  and  was 
up  on  toxins,  smiled  rather  pityingly  and 
said,    dryly,    ''Rather." 

"I  never  doubted  the  doctor's  honesty  of 
purpose  but  once.  There  was  a  little  room 
just  off  the  library  that  he  called  the  labora- 
tory. He  used  to  shut  himself  up  in  that  little 
closet — that's  about  all  it  was — for  hours  at  a 
time.  Now  it  wasn't  any  of  my  business,  but 
I  couldn't  help  being  curious  to  know  what 
he  was  doing  in  that  little  den.  Then,  too, 
I  was  certain  that  I  smelled  nice  fresh  meat 
just  as  he  came  out  one  day.     Of  course  that 


TOjSIMY  the  outcast  105 

completely  demoralized  me  and  I  determined 
to  look  into  the  matter.  Ah  me!  why  did  I 
not  remember  that  old  story  about  Bluebeard? 

''Well,  I  watched  my  chance,  and  one  night 
when  the  doctor  had  his  back  turned  I  sne^^ked 
into  the  laboratory,  the  door  of  which  was 
slightly  ajar.  Noticing  that  he  had  left  the 
door  open,  the  doctor  came  back  and  closed 
and  locked  it,  leaving  me  a  prisoner.  I  was  not 
frightened,  however,  for  I  was  sure  the  doctor 
would  soon  be  at  work  in  the  laboratory  again 
and  give  me  an  opportunity  to  escape.  I 
chuckled  to  myself,  \\Tetch  that  I  was,  to 
think  that  my  curiosity  was  at  last  to  be  grat- 
ified. 

"Jimaping  upon  the  table  that  the  doctor 
used  as  a  work  bench,  I  saw  a  sight  that  froze 
the  very  whiskers  on  my  cheeks!  There, 
spread  out  upon  the  table  lay  the  ghastly, 
mangled,  lifeless  body  of  a  cat  whom  I  recog- 
nized as  one  of  my  best  friends!  I  fell  in  a 
dead  faint." 

''Sort  of  a  cataleptic  fit — eh.  Tommy?"  said 
Fido,  with  a  sly,  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
Tonrniy  disdained  to  answer,  and  continued : 

"How  long  I  lay  in  my  swoon  I  do  not  know. 


106  TOMIVIY  THE  OUTCAST 

When  I  awoke,  the  doctor  was  standing  over 
me  and  sa3dng — 

"  *I  wonder  how  the  devil  that  blamed  cat 
got  in  here!    He  seems  to  be  sick/ 

"Sick?  Ye  Gods!  I  should  think  I  was 
sick! 

"I  never  became  quite  reconciled  to  the 
doctor  after  that,  and  when,  some  time  after- 
ward, he  forbade  the  children  to  kiss  and  hug 
me  any  more  just  because  I  ate  some  pickled 
stuff  that  stood  on  a  sheK  in  his  office,  I  ac- 
tually grew  to  dishke  him. 

*'But  everybody  else  loved  the  doctor, 
and  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  perhaps 
I  didn't  quite  understand  him.  He  was  cer- 
tainly good  and  kind  to  everybody  about  him. 

''Taken  all  in  all,  my  life  was  a  very  happy 
one,  and  I  not  only  had  a  pleasant  home,  but 
after  a  time  I  got  a  real  jolly  old  chum,  by  the 
name  of  Towser.  When  Johnny  first  brought 
Towser  home  he  'sicked'  him  on  me,  'just  for 
fun,'  he  said,  and  the  old  dog  and  I  had  a  ter- 
rible scrap.  But  I  swiped  him  a  good  one 
under  the  eye,  I  tell  you,  and  he  treated  me 
fine  after   that." 

"Scrap?  Swiped  him?  WTiy,  what  on  earth 
do  you  mean,  Tommy?"  asked  Fido. 


TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST  107 

*'0h !  I  forgot  that  you  were  an  aristocrat,  my 
dear  Fido.  I  meant  that  I  had  a  fight  with  Tow- 
ser  and  struck  him  under  the  eye.    See?'* 

''Ah!  now  I  comprehend,"  repUed  Fido. 

''Well,  as  I  was  saying,"  continued  Tommy, 
"I  enjoyed  life  immensely.  Towser  was  a  fine  old 
fellow,  and  he  and  I  used  to  romp  and  play  with 
the  children  most  of  the  time." 

"Your  life  must  indeed  have  been  very  happy, 
and  I  wonder  that  you  could  ever  have  left  so 
pleasant  a  home,  friend  Tommy,"  said  Fido. 

"Ah!  my  dear  old  friend,  there  was  never 
dream  of  bliss  so  fair  that  no  cloud  e'er  cam^e  to 
mar  the  beauty  of  its  skies.  Trouble  came  to 
that  happy  household,  and  within  a  few  weeks 
all  was  sadly  changed,  and  I  was  again  a  waif  of 
the  streets. 

"The  baby  had  been  ailing  for  some  time,  and 
we  could  see  that  the  doctor  was  very  uneasy 
about  him.  The  poor  little  fellow  finally  devel- 
oped some  brain  trouble  or  other — I  can't  re- 
member the  Latin  name  of  it,  but  I  believe  it 
was  what  old  Dr.  Cochran  over  at  'The  Corners,' 
used  to  call  'Water  on  the  brain,'  or  'Meningeet- 
us,'  or  something  like  that. 

"Well,  the  poor  little  fellow  didn't  stand  his 
sickness  very  long.   It  was  just  awful  to  see  him 


108  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

wasting  away,  getting  weaker  and  weaker  every- 
day. He  used  to  notice  me  quite  a  little  at  first, 
but  after  a  while  he  didn't  seem  to  know  me  any 
more.  I  had  suspected  this  for  a  day  or  two,  but 
it  seemed  too  horrible  for  belief.  It  was  soon 
plain,  however,  that  dear  little  Harry  no  longer 
recognized  those  who  loved  him,  and  for  the 
first  time  it  dawned  upon  me  that  my  darling 
playmate  was  soon  to  be  called  away  forever. 
Baby  dropped  ofT  to  sleep  one  night,  and  the 
doctor  said  that  he  thought  the  little  one  was 
better.  He  deceived  everybody  but  me — I  had 
seen  babies  go  to  sleep  that  way  before,  lots  o' 
times. 

"As  I  feared,  Harry  never  awoke  again  in 
this  world.  I  heard  Ethel  say  the  angels  had 
taken  him  away  to  Heaven — a  grand,  beauti- 
ful place  that  human  folks  say  is  up  yonder  some 
where  beyond  the  clouds.  If  that  was  true,  the 
angels  were  mighty  mean — for  we  were  all 
broken-hearted. 

"If  Ethel  was  right  about  Harry  going  to 
Heaven,  I  hope  there's  room  for  dogs  and  cats 
up  there.  Poor  old  Towser  fell  sick  and  died 
soon  after  the  baby  went,  and  I  would  feel  better 
about  the  little  one's  death  if  I  knew  that  Tow- 
ser was  with  him.   The  faithful  old  dog  used  to 


TOjVIMY  the  outcast  109 

take  such  good  care  of  the  dear  little  pet.  Then, 
too,  I  might  see  them  again  some  day,  and  we 
could  live  the  old  happy  days  over  again.  Don't 
mind  my  emotion,  Fido,  I  loved  Harry  very 
dearly.  Bless  my  whiskers,  old  chap,  if  you  are 
not  crying  too ! 

* 'After  they  had  put  our  sweet  httle  blossom 
into  a  cruel  white,  frosted  looking  box  and  taken 
him  away,  the  house  seemed  as  gloomy  as  an  old 
cellar.  Nobody  ever  seemed  to  be  happy  again. 
Ethel  and  Johnny  mourned  after  little  Harry 
all  the  time,  and  many  a  time  I  caught  the  doc- 
tor crying  softly  to  himself  when  he  thought  no 
one  was  looking.  He  didn't  think  I  understood, 
poor  fellow. 

"The  doctor  appeared  to  be  more  like  his  old 
self  again,  after  a  time,  but  he  seemed  to  work 
harder  than  ever  before.  He  sat  up  very  late  o' 
nights  reading  and  writing — that  is,  when  he  had 
no  patients  to  attend  to.  My!  how  he  used  to 
slave  over  those  people !  And  half  of  'em  never 
paid  their  bills,  either.  The  doctor  didn't  mind 
the  poor  ones,  but  he  used  to  say  that  'God's 
patients'  never  gave  him  half  so  much  trouble 
as  'the  devil's  patients.'  Sometimes  I  half  sus- 
pected that  the  doctor  was  working  hard  just  to 


no  TOMIVIY  THE  OUTCAST 

get  little  Harry  off  his  mind,  but  perhaps  I  was 
not  a  good  judge  of  such  things. 

"Well,  a  man  is  not  a  horse;  he  can't  carry  a 
big  load  very  long  without  breaking  down,  and 
the  doctor  soon  showed  signs  of  exhaustion.  It 
grieved  me  to  see  him  going  to  pieces,  but  I  was 
helpless.  I  felt  that  it  would  be  a  very  delicate 
matter  to  even  attempt  to  advise  him.  And  so 
I  was  obliged  to  watch  my  unfortunate  master 
dying  by  inches  before  my  very  eyes. 

"The  end  was  not  long  delayed.  The  doctor 
finally  contracted  an  attack  of  that  new-fangled 
disease — let  me  see,  what  do  they  call  it?  Oh 
yes,  'La  Grippe.'  Instead  of  going  to  bed,  as  he 
should  have  done,  he  slopped  about  in  all  sorts 
of  weather  until  he  got  pneumonia.  It  was  all 
up  with  my  poor  master  then — ^he  died  within 
a  week. 

"I  had  always  supposed  that  doctors  were  all 
rich  men,  until  I  lived  with  one.  My  master  left 
a  lot  of  bad  accounts  and  a  httle  life  insurance ; 
that  was  aU.  Why,  his  wife  even  had  to  sell  his 
books  and  instruments  to  defray  his  funeral  ex- 
penses. 

"After  the  doctor  died,  everything  was  chang- 
ed. The  end  of  my  happy  home-life  was  not  far 
distant.  The  children  were  sent  away  to  board- 


TOMJVIY  THE  OUTCAST  111 

ing  school  after  a  while,  and  their  mamma  soon 
went  to  hve  at  a  fashionable  hotel.  The  home 
was  completely  broken  up.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
bad  I  felt  when  I  saw  all  the  furniture  and  things 
that  the  doctor  used  to  prize  so  highly  hauled 
away  to  be  sold. 

''Heighol  'How  soon  we  are  forgot/  as  old 
Rip  Van  Winkle  so  truly  said.  Well,  I  soon  found 
myself  homeless  and  a  vagabond  once  more.  I 
have  since  had  all  sorts  of  luck — mostly  bad, 
however.  I  have  tried  my  hand  at  almost  every- 
thing, but  have  never  been  able  to  secure  anoth- 
er comfortable  position.  I  was  a  lawyer's  cat 
for  a  while,  but  my  family  pride  came  to  my 
rescue  after  a  time,  and  I  quit  the  job.  There  is 
blue  blood  in  my  veins,  Fido,  and  though  I  may 
be  dow^n  on  my  luck,  I  have  not  quite  lost  my 
self-respect." 

*'Ah !  you  are  boasting  of  blue  blood  nowadays, 
are  you,  Tommy?  How  does  that  happen?"  ask- 
ed Fido. 

"Why,  don't  you  know  about  the  cats  that 
were  found  in  the  pyramids  along  with  Rameses 
and  his  folks?"  asked  Tommy.  "You  ought  to 
read  up,  my  dear  Fido." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  from  the  doctor's  folks 
since  their  home  was  broken  up?"  asked  Fido. 


112  TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST 

"Oh,  yes;  I  have  kept  track  of  them  right 
along.  The  doctor's  wife  finally  married  again 
and  the  children  came  home  to  Hve  with  her 
soon  afterward.  I  called  at  their  house  one 
night,  and  was  unceremoniously  kicked  out. 
Johnny  and  Ethel  were  grown-up  folks  and  had 
no  use  for  cats  any  more,  besides,  they  didn't 
know  me  from  Adam.  I  was  just  a  tramp  cat, 
that  was  all,  and  was  treated  like  any  other 
vagrant. 

"But  I  have  got  used  to  hard  lines,  and  so 
long  as  I  can  capture  an  occasional  rat,  I  suppose 
I  will  be  able  to  live.  Once  in  a  while  a  nice  pet 
canary  or  toothsome  young  chicken  comes  my 
way;  then  there  is  great  joy  in  the  department 
of  the  interior. 

"My  health  is  none  of  the  best,  at  times,  and 
I  don't  believe  I  shall  live  many  years,  but  the 
sooner  to  sleep  the  sooner  to  rest,  and  I  know 
that  brave  old  Towser  and  dear  little  Harry  are 
waiting  for  me  up  yonder.  Towser  is  still  a  loyal 
old  dog,  and  Harry  is  not  grown-up  folks,  like 
Johnny  and  Ethel,  but  a  sweet,  winsome  little 
baby  boy  as  of  old. 

"Well,  Fido,  old  comrade,  I  have  told  you 
my  story,  and  it  is  now  nearly  midnight,  so  we 
must  say  good  night.   There  is  nobody  to  com- 


TOMMY  THE  OUTCAST  113 

plain  when  /  keep  late  hours,  but  it's  different 
with  you.  Good  jobs  are  scarce,  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  risk  losing  yours.  I  will  see  you 
next  Tuesday  evening  if  you  like. 

''Hello!  it's  raining.  There's  a  cold  wind 
blowing  too.  Awful  weather  for  the  rheumatism 
and  mange,  isn't  it?  You'll  get  that  pretty 
blanket  wet,  Fido,  my  boy." 

*'0h,  drat  the  blanket!"  said  Fido,  'Til  hurry 
along  though.    Good  night,  Tommy." 

"Good  night,  Fido,  good  night." 


JOHNNY 

A  STORY  OF  THE  PHILIPPINES 


Johnny  was  a  typic  gamin  from  the  Chicago 
slums.  He  never  denied  it,  and  it  would  have 
been  useless  if  he  had ;  the  ear  marks  were  too 
plain.  What  had  impelled  him  to  enter  the 
volunteer  service  was  a  mystery.  Some  of  the 
men  in  the  — th  Illinois  had  been  heard  to  say 
at  the  company  mess,  that  a  difference  of  opin- 
ion upon  matters  ethical  between  Johnny  and 
the  pohce  was  the  main-spring  that  had  worked 
the  little  tough  army-ward.  Pertinent  inquiries 
directed  at  the  boy  himself  had  ceased  abruptly 
when  big  Tom  O'Brien,  the  battalion  sergeant 
major,  got  through  swearing,  and  rubbing  the 
bump  on  his  head  with  which  Johnny,  through 
the  medium  of  an  accurately  aimed  canteen,  had 
decorated  him.  Tom  wound  up  with,  "Byes,  the 
little  divil  is  too  small  to  lick,  an'  too  big  to 
monkey  wid,  so  I'll  sarve  yez  notice  that  Mr.  T. 
O'Brien,  Esq.  will  attind  to  his  own  business 
hereafter.  An'  be  Jasus,"  he  added  significantly, 
"the  rist  av  ye'll  do  the  same,  for  be  the  same 

114 


JOHNNY  115 

token,  I  notice  yez  all  be  bigger  than  Johnny." 
It  was  obvious  that  the  boy  did  not  need  a 
protector,  but  nevertheless,  the  warm-hearted 
Irishman's  attitude  toward  him  was  a  peace  pro- 
moter in  no  mean  degree. 

No  one  had  ever  accused  Johnny  of  patriot- 
ism. He  knew  all  about  the  blowing  up  of  the 
Maine  and  thought  it  was  a  shabby  piece  of 
business,  the  perpetrators  of  which  should  be 
punished.  ''But,"  he  added  sagely,  "they  ain't 
hangin'  none  o'  them  strikin'  railroad  guys,  fer 
wreckin'  trains  and  sluggin'  scabs,  an'  I  guess 
there  ain't  much  difference.  There^s  a  lot  o' 
dead  an'  smashed  up  folks,  any  way  you  fix  it." 

It  was  evidently  a  hopeless  task  to  try  and 
elucidate  for  Johnny  patriotic  reasons  for  the 
war  with  Spain.  His  philosophy  was  too  strong 
to  cope  with. 

When  Johnny  fu'st  joined  the  regiment  he 
was  not  a  creditable  specimen  from  a  physical 
standpoint.  A  subtle  sympathy  with  the  under 
dog  in  the  breast  of  the  regimental  surgeon. 
Major  Brice,  was  mainly  responsible  for  the 
mustering  in  of  the  unpromising  recruit.  Slouchy 
in  gait,  under-sized,  weazened,  lanky  and  round 
shouldered,  with  the  air  of  one  pursued,  the  boy 
was  as  unsoldier-like  as  could  possibly  be  im- 


116  JOHNNY 

agined.  He  said  he  was  nineteen,  but  it  did  not 
require  a  professional  eye  to  detect  the  fraud — 
a  fraud  of  several  years — without  much  doubt. 

The  captain  of  K  Company  was  very  partic- 
ular about  the  physique  of  his  men,  and  the 
surgeon  and  he  had  a  confidential  arrangement 
which  had  kept  out  of  the  service  many  a  man 
who  might  have  passed  a  fair  examination 
before  the  army  board.  When  Captain  Harkins 
saw  Johnny  in  the  ranks  of  the  "rookies,"  he 
gave  a  gasp  of  horror  and  ran  post  haste  to  the 
surgeon's  quarters.  He  entered  the  tent  rather 
unceremoniously,  somewhat  ruffling  the  self- 
composure  of  its  occupant,  who  was  rather 
austere  and  dignified  at  times. 

"Ah,  Captain,"  said  the  surgeon,  "what's  the 
trouble,  somebody  hurt?" 

"Hurt!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  "Hurt!  Great 
Scott!  I'm  paralyzed.  How  in  Heaven's  name 
did  you  ever  pass  that  little  degenerate  shrimp 
of  a  gutter  snipe  that  came  in  with  that  last 
batch  of  rookies?     Is  this  a  practical  joke?" 

"I  never  make  practical  jokes,"  replied  the 
surgeon,  serenely.  "I  had  a  Uttle  whim  of  my 
own  to  gratify.  Didn't  know  I  was  whimsical, 
did  you?  Well,  I  am,  and  that  boy  is  my  latest 
whim.   I  fancied  the  service  would  be  better  for 


JOHNNY  117 

him  than  the  jail.  I  had  him  assigned  to  your 
company — well,  because  you  and  I  understand 
each  other  pretty  well,  and  because  I  want  him 
myself.  Just  reassign  him  to  me  for  special 
duty,  and  I'll  do  the  rest." 

The  captain  roared.  ''Well,"  he  said,  when 
he  had  caught  his  breath,  ''you  have  perpe- 
trated a  practical  joke  all  the  same,  and  landed 
good  and  proper.  You  had  me  well  nigh  scared 
into  a  fit." 

Johnny,  inscribed  in  regulation  form  as  John 
Blank,  on  the  muster  roll  of  K.  Company,  was 
formally  assigned  to  duty  in  the  hospital  depart- 
ment, and  the  following  morning  found  him 
standing  at  the  door  of  the  surgeon's  tent,  a 
full-fledged  orderly,  with  a  rudely  extemporized 
cross  of  red  flannel  upon  the  arm  of  his  "big 
brother"  blouse.  There  was  a  little  quiet  snick- 
ering at  the  surgeon's  expense,  but  this  soon 
died  out,  for  the  man  of  saws  and  pills  was 
sensitive,  somewhat  muscular  and,  above  all, 
wore  the  maple  leaf  on  his  shoulder  straps. 

The  colonel  was  very  indulgent  with  the  sur- 
geon; he  knew  his  failings,  and  when  his  eyes 
fell  upon  the  new  orderly,  he  smilingly  remarked 
to  the  adjutant,  "I  hope  the  major  will  be  able 
to  raise  that  slummy  looking  chap  to  be  a  sol- 


118  JOHNNY 

dier,  but  I'm  afraid  he  has  a  big  contract  on  his 
hands." 

But  the  surgeon  was  a  practical  humanitarian 
who  believed  in  a  physical  basis  of  things  mor- 
al. He  had  a  hobby,  as  the  new  recruit  soon 
discovered.  Johnny  was  daily  put  through 
a  course  of  physical  ' 'stunts"  that  made  his 
life  something  more  than  a  glad,  sweet  song. 
He  was  a  httle  rebellious  at  first,  and  his  in- 
structor had  hard  work  to  keep  him  from  de- 
serting. Through  the  connivance  of  the  colo- 
nel, however,  who  had  the  boy  brought  be- 
fore him  after  some  very  flagrant  act  of  in- 
subordination and  depicted  to  him  in  vivid 
colors  a  vision  of  an  early  morning  firing  squad, 
Johnny  was  brought  back  into  line  again  and 
went  on  with  his  stunts.  He  was  just  a  httle 
suspicious  of  the  ''Old  Man's"  seriousness,  but 
after  the  major  had  informed  him  that  the 
colonel  was  a  man  of  great  earnestness  of  pur- 
pose and  absolutely  devoid  of  regard  for  human 
life — blood-thirsty,  in  fact — he  became  in  a  meas- 
ure reconciled  to  what  at  first  seemed  to  him 
a  hard  lot. 

But  as  Johnny's  training  proceeded,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  new  and  unwonted  interest  in 
life.     He  began  to  have  a  sense  of  physical 


JOHNNY  119 

strength,  and  felt  an  increase  of  energy  that 
made  his  course  of  physical  training  pleasur- 
able. His  shoulders  were  beginning  to  set  up  and 
back.  It  was  no  longer  necessary  to  either 
drive  or  coax  him  to  his  task  of  self-develop- 
ment. The  surgeon  was  meanwhile  devoting 
such  time  as  he  could  steal  from  his  daily 
routine  of  antidoting  the  endeavors  of  the 
government  to  prepare  our  soldiers  for  Cuba 
by  killing  them  in  Tampa,  to  stimulation  of 
the  mental  side  of  the  neglected  boy  of  the 
streets.  Johnny  had  innate  capacity  enough 
but,  as  the  major  said,  he  had  never  in  his 
whole  life  had  any  healthy  blood  to  feed  his 
brain,  hence  the  development  of  the  latter  was 
not  possible  until  now. 

The  men  of  the  regiment  scarcelj^  appre- 
ciated the  gradual  change  in  Johnny.  He  un- 
folded just  as  a  plant  unfolds.  Growth  was 
there,  steadily  going  on.  The  major  knew, 
and  the  colonel  remarked  upon  it,  but  the 
rest  did  not  comprehend  until  one  day  the 
street  boy  stripped  to  the  buff  and,  urged  on  by 
the  mock  encouragement  of  some  of  the  pri- 
vates, entered  an  improvised  ring  for  a  ''friend- 
ly" contest  with  an  ex-professional,  who  had 
entered  the  service  chiefly  in  search  of  novelty 


120  JOHNNY 

in  the  way  of  recreation.  When  the  affair  was 
over  with,  and  the  amateur  referee  had  finished 
the  rather  prolonged  count  over  Johnny's  oppo- 
nent^ Tom  O'Brien  said  deUghtedly;  '^Begorra, 
the  byes  didn't  get  a  run  fer  their  money. 
Yez  kin  all  poke  fun  at  Johnny  now,  an'  ask 
him  all  the  sassy  quistions  ye  loike,  an'  divil 
a  wurrud  '11  I  say  to  yez,  unless  yez  go  in 
more  than  wan  at  a  toime." 

It  was  evident  that  Johnny  had  become 
soldierly  timber,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
the  captains  vied  with  each  other  in  coaxing 
him  to  apply  for  a  transfer  to  their  companies. 
Captain  Harkins  alone  refrained  from  urging 
the  boy  to  return  to  the  ranks.  He  might 
simply  have  assigned  him  back  to  company 
duty,  but  as  he  remarked  to  the  colonel,  he 
felt  that  ''Johnny  belonged  to  the  man  who 
had  made  a  soldier  out  of  him." 

The  major  was  not  ignorant  of  the  change 
in  sentiment  regarding  his  protege.  Desir- 
ing to  be  fair  with  him  he  said,  "Johmiy, 
some  of  the  officers  are  beginning  to  think 
a  Uttle  better  of  you  than  they  used  to.  Cap- 
tain Harkins  is  entitled  to  you,  but  seems 
to  think  you  ought  to  have  a  chance  to  use 
your  own  discretion  in  the  matter  of  going 


JOHNNY  121 

back  to  the  ranks.  Taking  care  of  my  horse 
and  tent,  and  rolling  bandages  for  me  is  pos- 
sibly not  so  much  to  your  liking  as  being  a 
real,  fighting  soldier.  We  shall  probably  go 
to  the  front  soon.  The  war  isn't  over  yet, 
and  they  can't  keep  us  in  Florida  forever, 
so  we  are  likely  to  see  some  pretty  hot  times 
in  Cuba.  If  you  want  to  go  back  to  the  com- 
pany just  say  the  word,  and  back  you  shall 
go." 

Johnny  stood  at  the  door  of  the  major's 
tent  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  gorgeous 
southern  sky.  When  he  turned  toward  his 
patron  his  eyes  were  wet. 

''Did  you  think  I'd  do  that,  sir?" 

And  the  major  replied,  ''No,  Johnny,  I  didn't 
think  you  would." 

But  the  war  did  end  very  soon,  and  the 
pride  of  the  Brigade,  the  — th  Illinois, — ath- 
letes, every  mother's  son  of  them, — did  not 
get  out  of  Florida  and  into  Cuba  until  there 
was  nothing  remaining  to  be  done  save  po- 
licing that  fair  and  unfortunate  island.  As 
soon  as  orders  came  to  leave  for  Cuba,  Major 
Brice  tendered  his  resignation,  intending  to 
return  to  civil  life  and  resume  his  practice. 
Johnny  was  disconsolate.     Police  duty  in  Cuba 


122  JOHNNY 

was  not  an  inviting  prospect — he  recalled  that 
he  never  did  like  the  policeman  or  his  works, 
on  principle.  Chicago  had  no  attraction  for 
him.  He  had  been  born  m  the  armj^  His 
previous  existence,  he  said,  ''did  n't  count. '* 
He  had  begun  hfe  in  the  major's  tent,  and 
when  that  tent  came  down  there  would  be 
no  longer  home  life  for  him.  The  major  was 
deeply  touched  by  his  protege's  devotion,  and, 
quite  alive  to  the  fact  that  Johnny  would 
be  a  pretty  helpless  member  of  any  society 
but  the  army,  interested  the  brigade  com- 
mander, who  had  been  assigned  for  duty  in 
the   Philippines,    in   his    case. 

Through  the  combined  influence  of  the  gen- 
eral and  the  major,  the  boy  received  his  dis- 
charge, and  was  immediately  reenlisted  in  the 
— th  Montana,  then  preparing  to  start  for 
Manila.  The  bluff  old  general  said:  ''Every- 
thing's over  in  Cuba,  but  I  suspect  that  noth- 
ing's begun  in  the  Philippines,  In  my  opinion, 
h — I's  brewing  in  Manila,  and  unless  my  expe- 
rience in  fighting  Indians  is  worthless,  I  feel 
pretty  safe  in  saying  that  those  d — d  bro'^'n- 
skinned  fellows  out  j^onder  are  going  to  give 
your  Uncle  Samuel  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  trouble 
before  we  get  through  with  'em.     Dewey  didn't 


JOHNNY  123 

do  a  thing  to  us,  not  to  the  Spaniards,  when  he 
took  Manila.  That  Montana  regiment  is  as 
liable  to  get  into  a  mix  up  as  any  of  'em — 
they  're  scrappers  all  right — and  it's  just  as  well 
for  that  orderly  of  yours  to  get  in  on  the  ground 
floor.     But,  Major,  will  he  fight?" 

The  major's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  replied, 
''Don't  worry  yourself  about  Johnny,  my  dear 
General.  He'll  give  a  good  account  of  himself. 
He  is  a  good  soldier  by  profession,  even  though 
I  could  never  cure  him  of  profanity  nor  teach 
him  what  patriotism  means.  He  regards  fight- 
ing as  a  vocation,  but  believes  in  attending  to  it 
for  all  he  is  worth." 

As  the  general  had  said,  trouble  had  not  yet 
begun  in  the  PhiUppines.  It  came  soon  enough, 
and  Johnny  got  in  on  the  ground  floor  with  a 
vengeance.  A^Tien  the  fighting  finally  began  he 
was,  to  use  his  own  vernacular,  ''on  the  spot," 
which  fact,  as  he  jestingly  remarked,  gave  him 
for  the  first  time  the  privilege  of  enjoying  "the 
luxury  of  more  name  than  'Johnnj^ '."  His  com- 
rades exclaimed,  apropos  of  his  new  cognomen, 
"Holy  smoke!  how  it  fits." 

The  — th  Montana  had  its  troubles  out  there 
in  those  tropic  isles.  Few  realize  what  it  means 
to  plunge  a  raw  volunteer  regiment  from  a  tem- 


124  JOHNNY 

perate  climate  into  tropic  wilds  infested  vrith 
a  foe  that  recognizes  no  rule  in  warfare  save 
implacable,  relentless  murder  of  the  enemy,  by 
hook  or  by  crook,  by  fair  means  or  foul.  A  foe 
that  fights  manfully  and  fairly,  whether  at 
long  range  or  close  quarters,  is  bad  enough  for 
"raw  ones"  to  face,  even  though  they  be  the 
best  in  the  world — the  which  is  stenographic 
for  American  boys. 

Bullets  and  bayonets  are  integral  parts  of 
the  soldier's  life.  Familiarity  breeds  contempt 
for  these — they  are  his  own  tools,  the  tools  with 
which  he  blazes  his  own  road  to  glory  or  to  a 
hero's  death.  But  those  terrible  bolos,  and  the 
Moro  swords — those  cruel  knives  that  shear  a 
man  from  crown  to  w^aist,  or  lop  off  heads  or 
limbs  as  though  they  were  chalk,  wielded  by 
little  brown  fiends  who  care  naught  for  rules 
of  fence  and  are  willing  to  mix  it  w^hen  you 
compel  them  to  close  with  you,  just  as  a  rat 
will  set  his  fangs  in  your  flesh  when  you 
corner  him — they  are  different,  quite.  And 
when  your  soldier  boy  thinks  of  the  newspapers 
that  are  preaching  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
at  home  and  watching  like  so  many  harpies 
for  the  shghtest  mishap  from  which  political 
capital  may  be  made,  whilst  he  is  wallowing 


JOHNNY  125 

in  the  blood  of  comrades  upon  whom  nameless 
mutilations  have  been  inflicted,  he  has  hard 
work  to  keep  his  courage  up  to  the  fighting 
pitch. 

Then  the  dread  plasmodium-bearing  mosquito 
of  the  swamps,  with  its  trail  of  death  deaUng 
chill  and  hemorrhage,  the  hellish  amoeba  of  the 
foul  tropic  streams,  that  are  so  often  the  soldier's 
only  source  of  water  supply,  and  that  awful 
typhoid,  hovering  hke  a  somber-hued,  gigantic 
bat  over  an  army  camp — selecting  as  its  victims 
the  very  flower  of  the  soldiery — these  be  things, 
not  of  glory,  but  of  death,  with  no  sublimity 
save  that  of  noble  self-sacrifice.  And  that 
dreadful  nostalgia,  that  sickening  yearning  for 
home,  which  so  often  kills,  or,  aided  by  the 
pitiless  torrid  sun,  beating  down  upon  devoted 
heads  unused  to  a  foretaste  of  hell,  sends  men 
with  brains  awry  back  to  Frisco  by  the  ship 
load.  Were  not  these  terrors  an  awful  crucible 
in  which  to  try  the  metal  of  men  whom  their 
friends,  at  home,  who  do  not  know  gold  when 
they  see  it,  are  wont  to  call  ''tin  soldiers?" 

What  a  lot  of  maudlin  sentiment  the  home 
papers  and  builders  of  political  issues  lavished 
upon  those  Filipino  fiends  who,  it  was  alleged, 
.were  given  more  water  than  was  good  for  them! 


126  JOHNNY 

The  soldier  at  the  front  knew  the  mockery  of 
it  all  He  had  felt  the  bolo  of  the  treacherous 
''amigo^'  at  his  back,  the  while  he  parleyed, 
friendly-wise,  with  the  aforesaid  amigo's  snaky 
comrade  in  front.  He  had  seen  the  pitiful  rem- 
nant of  what  were  once  white  human  forms, 
the  forms  of  his  own  comrades  and  friends, 
still  living,  perhaps,  fresh  from  the  torturings 
inflicted  by  their  savage  captors.  He  had  seen 
the  dismembered  bodies  of  children  and  old 
men  who  had  been  slain  in  cold  blood  because 
they  or  their  friends  had  been  friendly  to  the 
Americans,  and  he  had  heard  the  wailing  of 
women  who  had  suffered  shameful  outrage, 
aye,  a  living  death,  at  the  hands  of  our  ''little 
brown  brother."  What  wonder  that  the  boy 
in  khaki  grew  tired  of  making  prisoners  of 
fiends  from  hell,  who  deserved  nothing  better 
than  a  short  shrift  and  a  merry  trip  back  to 
their  father,  the  devil,  and  drove  his  bayonet 
a  little  deeper  or  emptied  his  magazine  a  bit 
faster  than  would  permit  him  to  see  or  heed  a 
signal  of  surrender? 

Of  all  the  regiments  who  were  sent  to  those 
far  away  islands,  none  bore  itself  more  gallantly, 
none  was  more  pertinacious^  put  to  the  fore 
than  the  — th  Montana.    A  history  of  the  thin, 


JOHNNY  127 

khaki-clad  firing  line  in  the  Philippines  that 
did  not  give  more  than  a  modest  share  of 
honor  to  that  gallant  regiment  would  be  but 
a  false  and  biased  chronicle. 

Johnny,  the  boy  of  the  slums,  may  not  have 
been  so  patriotically  inspired  as  some  of  his 
comi-ades,  but  he  was  a  fighter  by  instinct,  and 
a  soldier  by  profession.  He  knew  his  duty,  fear 
was  a  thing  apart  from  him,  and  he  attended 
strictly  to  ''business"  as  he  understood  it, 
namely,  to  obeying  orders,  shooting  true,  and 
keeping  tab  of  the  Filipinos  he  potted.  There 
be  those  who  say  that  his  game  bags  were  not 
only  large,  but  of  select  contents.  He  had  a  keen 
eye  for  brown  officers,  and,  as  he  said,  there 
were  so  many  Filipino  generals  and  such  folk, 
that  there  were  enough  for  everybody,  even 
after  he  had  taken  his  multitudinous  pick. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  mighty  ones  at 
staff  headquarters  became  quite  familiar  with 
Johnny's  ways.  Our  soldier  soon  found  himself 
in  demand,  a  demand  which,  from  details  of 
special  and  hazardous  duty,  occasional  at  first, 
but  finally  very  frequent,  won  for  him  a  ser- 
geant's stripes,  and  regrets  at  headquarters  that 
it  was  not   possible   to    immediately  decorate 


128  JOHNNY 

his  shoulders  with  strap  and  bar.   Never  did  bet- 
ter man  wear  non-com's  stripes. 

The  sergeant  is  the  pivot  around  which,  as 
upon  an  axis,  revolves  the  discipline  and  effi- 
ciency of  the  rank  and  file.     He  is  the  key-stone 
of  both  the  individual  and  company  arch  of 
courage.     Johnny  was  all  that  a  disciplinarian 
should  be,  and  more,  he  was  idolized  by  the  men. 
Twice  was  he  wounded  by  a  ball  that  smashed 
several  ribs  and  narrowly  missed  taking  out  so 
much  of  his  chest  wall  that,  as  he  said,  his  heart 
and  lungs  would  have  been  subject  to  indecent 
exposure.     Again  did  the  little  ''brown  bellies'' 
get  him, — ^Vvith  a  bolo  this  time.    But  Johnny's 
bayonet  was  a  fraction  of  a  second  too  quick  for 
the  luckless  Filipino  who  wielded  the  "chopper" 
and  the  heavy  blade  missed  the  vitals  by  a  hair. 
A  siege  of  typhoid  followed,  but  Johnny  said, 
when  the  surgeon  wanted  to  have  him  sick- 
leaved  home.    "Hell!  no.    It  wouldn't  be  busi- 
ness, an'  besides,  I'm  at  home  now — anyhow, 
as  near  as  I'll  ever  be.     Shootin',  cuttin'  and 
typhoid    never   was    calculated  to  kill  gutter 
snipes,  an'  so  long  as  I  keep  awav  from  water, 
which  is  the  only  thing  that  I  hain't  tried,  I 
reckon  I'll  pull  through.    Then  there's  old  Miss 
Krag,  here/'  and  he  tenderly  patted  his  rifle, 


JOHNNY  129 

''she  can't  get  any  furlough,  cause  she  hain't 
had  any  pluggin'  or  boloin',  or  fever,  an'  she'd 
be  lonesome."  And  so  Johnny  stayed  at  the 
front,  and  shot  Filipinos,  swore  great  oaths 
and — got  well. 

The  Filipinos  were  ''pacified,"  so  all  the  home 
papers  said,  save  those  few  that  were  politi- 
cally favorable  to  the  democratic  "outs"  and 
opposed  to  the  republican  "ins."  A  few  boloed 
soldiers  or  native  women  and  children  v>^ere  not 
evidences  of  war,  they  were  mere  "local  dis- 
turbances, occasional  manifestations  of  unrest, 
etc."  The  men  at  the  front  and  the  friendly 
brown  ones  thought  differently,  but  who  cares 
what  the  pig  under  the  knife  thinks?  Uncle  Sam 
didn't  seem  quite  so  certain  of  himself  as  the 
papers  would  have  us  beheve  he  was.  Whilst 
egging  the  eagle  on  to  scream  peans  of  victory 
as  a  soothing  embrocation  for  such  as  might  be 
restive  under  the  war  tax,  he  kept  his  weather 
eye  open  just  the  same.  To  clinch  the  matter 
of  pacification,  troops  were  ordered  here  and 
there  into  the  towns  adjacent  to  the  swamps 
and  rocky  fastnesses  where  lurked  the  more 
troublesome  of  the  ladrones.  Small  detach- 
ments were  often  sent,  much  smaller  in  some 


130  JOHNNY 

instances  than  was  safe,  as  the  government 
learned  to  its  sorrow. 

Much  of  the  outpost  duty  fell  upon  the  — th 
Montana.  K  company  was  ordered  to  duty  in 
the  province  of  Zambales,  island  of  Luzon,  and 
took  up  its  quarters  at  Poombato,  a  place  which 
could  be  called  a  town  by  courtesy  only.  It 
was  nothing  more  than  a  handful  of  palm 
thatched  huts,  inhabited  chiefly  by  old  men, 
women  and  children  who  couldn't  become  en- 
rolled with  their  'Opacified"  brethren  who,  bolo 
in  hand,  were  lurking  in  the  neighboring 
hills  and  thickets,  awaiting  a  chance  for  a  sudden 
dash  upon  the  enemy  and  a  merry  boloing  in 
the  camp  of  the  Americanos.  The  men  of  K 
company  were  no  "kickers,"  as  they  were  wont 
to  express  it,  but  the  idea  of  rotting  in  the 
wilds  while  trying  to  protect  a  few  miserable 
natives  from  possible  outlaws  who  were  their 
own  kith  and  kin,  and  with  whom  the  pro- 
tected ones  kept  in  pretty  close  and  friendly 
touch,  was  not  the  pleasantest. 

The  men  of  K  company  knew  the  Filipino — 
knew  him  root  and  branch — they  had  fought 
him  long  enough,  the  Lord  knows,  and  had 
discovered  that  caution  was  the  price  of  sound 
throats.     Their  commander.  Captain  Benning, 


JOHNNY  131 

was  ever  a  discreet  officer  and  careful  of  his 
men,  above  all  he  knew  that  somewhere  in  the 
vicinit)^  hovered  the  worst  of  all  the  brigands 
and  cut  throats  the  Philippines  had  yet  pro- 
duced, ' 'Captain"  Agramonte,  but  the  deadly 
monotony  of  their  daily  duties  was  more  than 
the  men  could  stand.  Despite  warnings  and,  it 
must  be  confessed,  not  infrequently  despite 
strict  orders,  the  men  would  stray  away  into 
the  jungle,  often  in  quest  of  a  scrap  with  stray 
Filipinos,  sometimes  seeking  such  excitement  as 
shooting  wild  game  affords.  These  little  excur- 
sions were  apparently  safe  enough  at  fii'st.  No 
accidents  happening,  however,  the  men  grew 
bolder,  and  roamed  about  almost  at  will, 
and  then  the  trouble  came.  Man  after  man 
was  found  boloed,  or  disappeared  as  if  the 
earth  had  swallowed  him  up.  On  one  occa- 
sion a  small  searching  party,  in  quest  of  a 
missing  comrade,  was  ambushed  and  narrowly 
escaped  annihilation.  Captain  Benning  was 
not  left  long  in  doubt  as  to  whom  he  was 
indebted  for  the  loss  of  his  men.  The  ghastly, 
recently  severed  head  of  one  of  his  men  v/as 
hurled  from  the  brake  one  night  into  camp, 
rolling,  as  chance  would  have  it,  its  bloody 
way  to  the  very  door  of    the  captain's  own 


132  JOHNNY 

tent.  Affixed  to  the  awful  thing  was  a  scur- 
rilous note  signed,   '^Agramonte." 

Captain  Benning  was  a  brave  officer,  with 
just  enough  revenge  corpuscles  in  his  blood  to 
make  the  possession  of  Agramonte's  person 
the  one  thing  in  all  the  world  to  be  desired. 
This  last  atrocity  was  more  than  he  could  en- 
dure. Agramonte's  life  he  must  and  would 
have.  He  knew  well  enough  that  there  was 
but  one  way  to  kill  or  capture  the  outlaw. 
Having  but  one  company  at  his  command  he 
could  not  well  send  a  large  party  against  the 
enemy.  Indeed,  the  entire  company  was 
scarcely  large  enough  to  make  a  punitive  ex- 
pedition safe.  Whatever  was  done  must  of 
necessity  be  done  by  strategy,  and  by  a  small 
party.  A  set  plan  was  impossible.  What  was 
wanted  was  a  ''man,"  and  the  captain  thought 
that  he  knew  where  to  find  him.  Turning  to 
his  orderly  he  said,  ''Tell  Sergeant  Blank  that  I 
want  him  to  report  to  me  at  once." 

Johnny  promptly  appeared  at  the  captain's 
quarters  and  stood  respectfully  at  attention, 
awaiting  his  commander's  pleasure. 

"Sergeant,"  said  the  captain,  pointing  to 
the  outlaw's  grim  token  of  defiance,  "do  you 
know  Agramonte  when  you  see  him?" 


JOHNNY  133 

''I  think  I  do,  sir,"  replied  Johnny. 

''Well,  Sergeant,  I  want  him,  and  I  want 
him  badly.  If  anybody  can  get  him,  you  can. 
You  have  done  plenty  of  scouting.  What  do 
you  think  about  it?" 

Johnny  glanced  at  the  gory  head  of  his 
comrade,  lying  at  the  captain's  feet,  and  his 
jaws  set  ominously.  He  answered  through  his 
teeth : 

"1  think  I'll  get  him  sir,  or  he'll  get  me." 

'Tery  well,  then,"  said  the  captain,  ''go 
after  him,  and  be  sure  you  get  him." 

"Alive,   sir?" 

"Alive  if  3^ou  can;  I  wish  to  make  an  ex- 
ample of  him,  for  the  benefit  of  those  cut- 
throats of  his,  but  don't  take  a  chance  of  los- 
ing him.  I  want  to  see  him  at  my  tent  door, 
and  a  few  holes  more  or  less  in  his  miserable 
carcass  will  not  mar  his  beauty  much  in  my 
eyes." 

"All  right,  sir;  any  instructions?" 

"None  whatever.  Sergeant,  except  to  get 
him,  get  him  sure  and  as  quick  as  the  Lord 
'11  let  you." 

The  captain  rose,  and  with  a  total  disre- 
gard of  military  etiquette  held  out  his  hand  and 
said, 


134  JOHNNY 

"Good  luck  to  you  Johnny,  and  don't  for- 
get that  you  are  worth  more  to  me  than  that 
d — d  renegade.  If  you  don't  land  him,  be 
sui'e  to  bring  yourself  back.  We  are  old 
conu'ades,  you  know." 

''Don't  bother  your  head  about  me,  Cap- 
tain," repHed  Johnny,  his  eyes  glistening, 
as  he  grasped  his  commander's  hand;  "I'll 
come  back  all  right,  and  I'll  bring  that  d — d 
renegade  with  me.  We  may  neither  of  us  be 
pretty  to  look  at  when  we  drop  in  on  you, 
but  you  can  bet  we'll  get  here  together," 
and   Johnny   disappeared   in   the  darkness. 

An  army  scout  travels  "light"  and  w^hen 
he  is  about  to  set  out  on  an  expedition,  his 
preparations  are  a  marvel  of  speed  and  sim- 
plicity. Johnny  was  even  speedier  than  usual 
in  getting  ready  for  his  perilous  mission. 
He  had  little  to  do  save  to  strap  on  a  brace  of 
navies,  his  canteen  and  haversack  and  say 
goodbye  to  his  "bunky."  The  latter,  as  his 
friend  was  leaving,  handed  him  an  enormous 
bowie  knife,  saying,  "Here's  a  western  lancet 
that  I  want  you  to  take  with  you,  just  for 
luck.  We  like  'em  out  our  way.  They  don't 
miss  fire,  nor  go  off  half  cocked,  and  they  can't 
be  beat  for  tickling  the  solar  plexus."     The 


JOHNNY  135 

bunky  forgot  to  mention  the  bowie's  chief 
merit,  that  it  wasn't  noisy.  This  was  left 
for  Johnny's  own  exploitation. 

Johnny  loosened  his  belt,  slipped  the  bowie 
upon  it  and  said,  'Thanks,  and  speakin'  of 
the  West  reminds  me  of  a  little  trick  one  of 
the  boys  taught  me  when  we  was  cooped  up 
in  Manila.  I  almost  forgot  this,"  and  reach- 
ing up  he  took  dovv'n  a  coil  of  rope  that  hung 
at  the  side  of  the  tent.  This  he  slung  over 
his  shoulder,   sash-wise. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  after  his  interview 
with  his  captain,  our  soldier  slipped  through 
the  picket  lines  and  plunged  into  the  jungle. 
He  knew  that  he  must  get  beyond  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town  under  cover  of  darkness  if 
he  would  elude  the  watchful  eyes  of  the  Fil- 
ipinos who  hung  about  in  the  surrounding  hills 
and  jungles.  Had  he  not  started  before  dawn 
it  would  have  been  necessarj^  to  await  the 
coming  of  the  next  night,  in  order  to  leave  the 
camp  un'-'bserved  by  the  enemy. 

Agramonte's  base  of  operation  was  so  well 
known  that  the  uninitiated  ma}'  naturally 
wonder  why  he  had  not  been  captured  long 
before.  It  requires  only  a  moderate  knowledge 
of  the  native  character  and  of   the  nature  of 


136  JOHNNY 

the  country  to  understand  why  Captain  Ben- 
ning  with  the  small  force  at  his  command, 
had  hitherto  refrained  from  attempts  at  the 
outlav/'s  capture.  A  formal  campaign  against 
him  would  have  necessitated  beating  up  the 
Fihpinos  precisely  as  game  is  beaten  up  in 
a  battue.  This  would  have  required  a  very 
large  and  powerful  force.  Agramonte,  fully 
cognizant  of  the  situation,  had  established  him- 
self at  Masillo,  a  little  village  in  the  foot  hills 
less  than  five  miles  from  the  camp  of  the 
Americans,  where  he  conducted  himself  pre- 
cisely as  if  there  was  no  such  thing  existing 
as  the  United  States  of  America  or  a  hostile 
army.  The  Batolan  river  lay  between  him 
and  his  enemies  in  khaki.  This  was  a  tur- 
bulent momitain  stream  of  considerable  width, 
with  no  ford  nearer  than  some  seven  or  eight 
miles  from  the  renegade's  headquarters.  Grant- 
ing that  his  enemies  succeeded  in  crossing  the 
stream,  which  was  not  an  easy  thing  for  a 
small  force  such  as  he  beheved  would  probably 
be  sent  against  him  to  do  under  fire,  he  had 
but  to  hide  himself  amid  his  native  rocks  and 
ravines  and  he  could  snap  his  brown  fingers  at 
the  hated  Americanos. 

Knowing  the  outlaw's  lair,  and  the  character 


JOHNNY  137 

of  the  country,  Johnny  had  evolved  his  plans 
of  campaign  before  leaving  camp,  while  he  was 
hastily  preparing  for  the  expedition.  From 
his  experience  in  scouting  expeditions  he  knew 
that  the  only  way  to  succeed  in  his  mission 
was  to  beat  the  Filipino  chief  at  his  own  game, 
by  taking  him  completely  by  surprise  at  such 
time  as  he  might  be  found  separated  from  his 
companion  ladrones.  The  lariat  which  John- 
ny had  slung  over  his  shoulder  was  perhaps 
the  most  methodic  and  pertinent  of  his  prep- 
arations. 

Travelling  through  the  Luzon  brake  is  nei- 
ther easy  nor  comfortable,  even  in  broad  day- 
light, but  at  night  it  is  practically  impossible 
to  the  inexperienced  traveller.  But  Johnny 
was  no  novice  at  the  business  in  which  he  was 
engaged,  and  seemed  to  instinctively  know 
the  weak  spots  in  the  wild  tangle  of  trees  and 
brake.  He  was  apprised  from  time  to  time 
that  he  was  an  intruder  in  the  jungle.  Troops 
of  monkeys  chattered  at  him  saucily  as  they 
swung  down  from  limb  to  limb  of  the  trees 
to  get  a  nearer  view  of  the  strange  object  that 
had  disturbed  their  sleep.  Having  seen  him, 
they  screamed  affrighted  warnings  to  the  other 
jungle    folk   and    fled    back    to    the    topmost 


138  JOHNNY 

boughs,  there  to  hurl  defiant  challenges  at 
the  intruder.  Enormous  bats  beat  their  foul 
wings  fiercely  against  his  face  as  he  toiled  on, 
their  whizzing,  whirling  flight  sending  the 
heav^^,  strangely  perfumed  night  mist  of  the 
tropic  wood  pulsing  against  his  face  in  dank 
waves.  Once,  as  he  crept  through  the  brake, 
almost  on  his  hands  and  knees,  he  nearly  fell 
face  down  upon  a  huge  creature  of  some  kind. 
Johnny  never  knew  the  nature  of  it,  for  start- 
led as  he  was,  the  beast  was  more  so.  It 
sprang  up  with  a  frightened  yelp  and  crashed 
off  through  the  jungle,  snarling  back  at  the 
strange  thing  that  had  roused  him  from  his 
peaceful  slumbers. 

Again,  as  our  soldier,  breathing  more  free- 
ly as  he  emerged  from  the  brake  into  the  open, 
was  skirting  a  little  glade  in  the  forest,  a  mon- 
ster serpent  dangHng  its  death  dealing  loops 
downward  from  a  bough  struck  him  fairly  upon 
the  chest,  with  a  resounding  whack  that  al- 
most knocked  the  breath  out  of  him.  A  man 
less  nervy  and  experienced  would  have  been 
entangled  in  the  cruel  coils  of  the  gigantic  rep- 
tile, but  with  a  quick  push  of  his  powerful  arm 
against  the  cold,  clammy  folds  of  the  awful 
thing  and  a  cat-hke  spring  aside  he  was  free. 


JOHNNY  139 

Courageous  as  he  was,  this  encounter  made 
his  flesh  creep.  But  none  the  less,  he  saw  a 
hidicrous  side  to  the  incident,  and  muttered 
to  himself,  ''Major  Brice  used  to  say  somethin' 
to  me  al)out  the  early  bird  cat  chin'  the  worm. 
I'm  the  early  bird,  all  right,  all  right,  but  that 
worm's  a  little  too  big  for  Johnny's  craw. 
Wonder  what  the  dear  old  major  'd  think 
o'  that  chap,  anyhow.  I  suppose  he'd  like  to 
bottle  him." 

And  there  were  other  things,  less  preten- 
tious relatives  of  the  giant  snake  who  so  nearly 
did  for  Johnny.  As  his  feet  stumbled  on 
through  the  luxuriant  tangle  of  tropic  weeds 
and  grasses,  he  heard  certain  rustlings  and 
hissings  that  warned  him  of  the  nearness  of 
reptiles  of  lesser  bulk,  whose  fangs  were  carri- 
ers of  liquid  death,  relentless  and  sudden,  yet 
slow  enough  for  the  victim  to  suffer  the  agon- 
ies of  the  damned  ere  he  died. 

But  Johnny  pulled  through  the  night  with- 
out mishap  and,  worn  and  haggard,  as  morn- 
ing dawned,  he  found  himself  upon  the  banks 
of  the  Batolan.  Here  he  knew  he  must  stop 
until  nightfall.  A  white  man's  head  bobbing 
up  and  down  in  the  stream  would  have  made 
too  good  a  target  for  even  Filipino  marksmen, 


140  JOHNNY 

wretched  shots  though  they  are,  to  miss  at 
such  easy  range.  It  would  have  been  suicid- 
al to  attempt  to  swim  the  river  in  broad  day 
light,  besides,  at  that  point  the  current  was 
too  swift  for  a  tired  man  to  breast.  Johnny 
was  nearly  exhausted,  so  after  a  bite  from  the 
small  store  in  his  haversack  and  a  pull  at  his 
canteen  he  laid  down  amid  the  bamboos  that 
fringed  the  river  bank  to  await  nightfall  with 
what  patience  he  could. 

Tired  as  Johnny  was,  he  did  not  dare  sleep 
The  day  was  excessively  warm  and  it  was  not 
easy  to  keep  awake,  but  under  the  stimulus  of 
several  parties  of  Filipinos  of  whom  he  caught 
a  glimpse  at  various  times  as  they  passed  to 
and  fro  on  the  hill  sides  upon  the  opposite  side 
of  the  stream,  he  managed  to  fight  off  the 
drowsiness  with  which  his  fatigue  and  the  tropic 
heat  combined  to  overpower  him.  He  did  not 
dare  to  even  light  his  pipe,  the  soldier's  consola- 
tion, lest  he  attract  the  attention  of  the  enemy, 
and  with  nothing  to  help  him  while  away  the 
hours  the  day  seemed  almost  interminable. 

But  the  fiercely  glowing  red  ball  of  the  sun 
finally  sank  behind  the  hills  to  westward,  and 
the  tropic  twilight  mist  began  to  rise  from 
brake  and  stream.    Not  far  from  the  bank  op- 


JOHNNY  141 

posite  the  spot  where  Johnny  lay  concealed, 
he  noted  through  the  gathering  shadows  the 
twinkle  of  lights  upon  the  opposite  hillside  and 
the  glow  of  what  appeared  to  be  a  camp  fire, 
and  said  to  himself,  ''I  reckon  that  must  be 
Masillo,  an'  if  it  is  I'm  pretty  close  to  that 
d — d  brown  belly's  headquarters.  It  won't  do 
to  let  him  see  me  first.  We  hain't  been  intro- 
duced and  he  might  cut  me." 

Rising  to  his  feet  and  pulling  himself  together, 
"just  to  get  the  kinks  out,"  Johnny  crept  cau- 
tiously through  the  brake  up  stream,  with  the 
intention  of  crossing  at  a  point  which  would 
be  safer  from  detection  by  the  enemy.  He  had 
traversed  the  river  bank  about  a  mile,  when  he 
noticed  that  the  river  had  widened  out  con- 
siderably and  was  dotted  here  and  there  by  a 
number  of  broad,  low  lying,  bamboo  covered 
islands,  their  outlines  being  clearly  discernible 
in  the  light  of  the  gorgeous  moon  which  was  just 
rising.  ''This  ought  to  be  a  good  place  to  get 
across,"  he  thought.  "Vm.  likely  to  find  bottom 
part  of  the  way,  an'  the  walkin'  must  be  purty 
fair  on  them  islands." 

Divesting  himself  of  all  his  clothing  and 
accouterments  save  his  belt  and  lariat,  Johnny 
rolled  his  effects  into  as  compact  a  form  as  pos- 


142  JOHNNY 

sible  and  with  his  bundle  under  his  arm  waded 
out  toward  the  nearest  island.  The  water  rose 
only  to  his  waist,  and  although  it  was  hard  to 
keep  his  footing  in  the  swift  running  current, 
he  was  not  long  in  reaching  his  destination. 
The  brake  was  so  dense  upon  the  island  that 
he  found  it  easier  to  traverse  its  lower  shore 
to  the  opposite  side.  Between  the  first  island 
and  the  next  one,  a  little  further  down  stream, 
the  water  was  deeper  and  swifter  than  before, 
and  our  soldier  had  to  swim  for  it.  When  he 
reached  the  second  island  he  was  pretty  well 
blown  and  was  compelled  to  take  a  breathing 
spell.  From  the  second  island  to  the  opposite 
bank  the  water  was  very  shallow  and  easil}^ 
forded,  a  circumstance  of  which,  as  the  sequel 
proved,  the  Filipinos^themselves  were  fully  cog- 
nizant, and  of  which  they  had  showed  their 
appreciation  by  stationing  a  reception  commit- 
tee for  possible  invaders  at  that  point. 

Johnny  clambered  up  the  bank  and  pausing  in 
a  diminutive  clearing  near  the  water,  proceeded 
to  leisurely  dress  himself.  He  was  just  stooping 
to  lace  his  leggings  when  two  forms  sprang  upon 
him  from  the  brake,  one  of  them  landing  upon 
his  back.  As  he  went  down  under  the  sudden 
rush,  he  was  dimly  conscious  of  a  heavy  cutting 


"johnny  got  a  strangle  hold  on  the   FILlIMXo'a 

THROAT  WITH  HIS  LEFT  HAND,   WHILE   W  1111 

HIS  RIGHT  HE  DREW  HIS  KNIFe" 


JOHNNY  143 

blow  upon  his  head.  As  he  struggled  with  his 
foes  he  felt  the  hot  blood  streaming  down 
from  his  temple  and  into  his  eyes.  He  man- 
aged to  turn  face  upward  as  the  Fihpino  Ijore 
him  to  the  earth,  but  for  a  few  seconds  he 
could  do  no  more  than  grip  his  man  tightly  by 
the  body  and  prevent  his  striking  him  with  the 
bolo  with  which  he  was  armed.  The  other  Fil- 
ipino tried  frantically  to  land  a  blow  upon  the 
Americano,  but  without  success,  as  his  comrade 
was  most  persistently  and  unwillingly  in  the 
way.  As  soon  as  his  wits  returned  Johnny, 
suddenly  letting  go  of  his  adversary's  body, 
got  a  strangle  hold  on  the  FiHpino's  throat 
with  his  left  arm,  while  with  his  right  hand  he 
drew  his  bowie.  Two  quick  jabs  with  the  knife, 
and  the  soldier  knew  that  this  part  of  the  drama 
was  over.  Practiced  '^Testier  that  he  was,  it 
was  an  easy  matter  to  sHp  from  under  the  Ump 
body,  and  spring  to  his  feet  and  bound  away 
to  the  edge  of  the  little  clearing. 

Running  away  was  farthest  from  Johnny's 
mind.  He  wheeled  about  and  faced  the  second 
Filipino  who,  having  recovered  from  his  aston- 
ishment at  the  denouement  of  the  struggle  in 
which  he  had  taken  a  subordinate  part,  rushed 
toward  the  soldier,  swinging  his  terrible  bolo 


144  JOHNNY 

with  the  evident  intention  of  bisecting  him 
post  haste.  Johnny,  nothing  loth,  awaited  the 
rush,  bowie  in  hand,  as  calmly  as  if  he  were  on 
parade.  And  then  came  a  dodging  and  cutting 
match  that  was  as  unfair  as  a  two  foot  bolo 
wielded  by  an  uninjured  Filipino,  opposed  to 
a  ten  inch  blade  in  the  hands  of  a  wounded 
soldier  could  make  it.  But  Johnny  was  an 
athlete,  and  his  pugilistic  training  was  not  lost 
in  such  a  contest. 

In  the  first  mad  rush  of  his  foe  Johnny  was 
very  nearly  done  for.  As  he  sidestepped  to 
avoid  the  heavy  Filipino  blade,  his  foot  slipped 
and  he  nearly  fell.  The  weapon  missed  his  head 
but  inflicted  a  severe  wound  upon  his  right 
shoulder,  crippling  for  the  moment  his  sword 
arm.  Feeling  himself  growing  faint,  he  soon 
determined  to  mix  matters  with  his  opponent 
who,  after  missing  his  stroke,  had  sprung  back 
preparatory  to  another  rush.  As  the  Filipino 
closed  in  with  a  vicious  sweep  at  his  enemy's 
head,  Johnny  transferred  his  knife  to  his  left 
hand  and  suddenly  ducked  under  the  descending 
blade  squarely  into  the  arms  of  the  FiUpino, 
who  instinctively  grappled  with  him,  and  for- 
ever lost  the  opportunity  of  using  his  own 
weapon.   One  short-arm  swing  of  the  bowie  and 


JOHNNl^  145 

the  Filipino,  cut  through  the  chest,  hung  limp  in 
the  soldier's  arms.  The  weight  of  his  foe  bore 
Johnn}^  to  the  ground,  where  he  lost  conscious- 
ness, the  two  combatants  lying  locked  together 
hke  two  wild  beasts  that  had  fought  each  other 
to  the  death. 

All  through  the  night  the  two  men  lay  mo- 
tionless upon  the  ground,  to  all  appearances 
lifeless.  Meanwhile  a  storm  blew  up  and  just  as 
the  morning  dawned  the  rain  fell  in  torrents. 
Johnn}'  had  merely  fainted  from  loss  of  blood, 
and  the  cool  raindrops  beating  upon  his  face 
revived  him.  At  first,  as  he  became  conscious, 
he  had  no  clear  conception  of  where  he  was  or 
of  what  had  happened.  He  had  a  hazy  recollec- 
tion of  a  struggle,  but  not  the  sUghtest  notion 
of  what  it  was  all  about  nor  with  whom  or  how 
many  he  had  fought.  As  his  mind  gradually  re- 
covered itself,  however,  he  remembered  all  the 
details  of  the  battle  in  which,  as  he  now  dis- 
covered, he  had  been  victorious.  Disengaging 
himself  from  the  body  of  his  late  antagonist,  he 
rolled  and  crawled  away  a  httle  distance,  and 
finally  sat  up  and  looked  about  the  arena  in 
which  they  had  battled. 

The  Filipino  who  had  fii'st  attacked  the 
soldier  lay  a  little  distance  away,  stark  dead. 


146  JOHNNY 

The  other,  however,  was  still  living.  As  Johnny 
looked  in  his  direction  the  body  moved  un- 
mistakably with  a  slight  convulsive  movement 
of  the  chest,  and  a  faint  gToan  escaped  the  lips. 

''Hello,"  said  Johnny,  ''my  friend  over  there 
seems  pretty  lively  for  a  corpse.  Sorry  I  did  n't 
cut  just  right.  I'd  have  saved  Uncle  Sam  and 
Sergeant  Blank  a  lot  o'  trouble.  I  s'pose  I'd 
orter  fix  the  d — d  cuss  up,  story  book  style,  but 
charity  begins  at  home,  and  it's  me  for  first 
crack  at  the  aid  package." 

With  this  the  sergeant  proceeded  to  take  ac- 
count of  stock.  After  a  careful  survey  of  his 
wounds,  he  dressed  and  bandaged  them  as  best 
he  could,  and  took,  a  bracer  from  the  whiskey 
flask,  with  which  the  haversack  of  the  army 
scout  who  knows  his  business  is  always  sup- 
plied. He  followed  the  stimulant  with  a  meagre 
breakfast  from  his  rations. 

It  was  not  long  before  Johnny  was  strong 
enough  to  get  upon  his  feet.  The  fii^st  thing  he 
did  was  to  inspect  the  wounded  Filipino.  To 
facihtate  matters  he  kneeled  beside  the  fellow 
and  rolled  him  over  upon  his  back.  As  he 
glanced  at  the  cruel,  savage  face,  it  seemed 
strangely  famihar.  Looking  at  the  face  more 
critically,  as  suspicion  of  the  identity  of  his 


JOHNNY  147 

fallen  foe  entered  his  mind,  he  brushed  back  the 
mat  of  coarse  hair  that  covered  the  Filipino's 
forehead.  There,  running  transversel}^  across 
the  brow,  close  to  the  tangled  hair,  was  a  livid, 
jagged  scar  of  an  old  time  sword  stroke.  For- 
getting his  own  wounds  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
in  amazed  deUght  and  exclaimed,  ''Agramonte, 
or  I'm  an  Indian!" 

The  FiUpino  was  evidently  recovering  con- 
sciousness. He  too,  had  suffered  from  a  severe 
loss  of  blood.  Johnny  examined  his  enemy's 
wound  and  found  that  the  blood  had  clotted 
and  was  no  longer  flowing.  He  apphed  a  com- 
press and  bandage  and  gave  the  wounded 
man  a  swig  of  whiskey,  with  the  result  that  he 
soon  revived  sufficiently  to  recognize  his  sur- 
roundings. If  he  remembered  the  encounter 
that  had  been  so  unlucky  for  him  he  made  no 
sign.  As  soon  as  he  became  conscious,  he  ceased 
groaning  and  made  no  sound  thereafter.  He 
lay  as  stohdly  as  a  manikin,  his  beady  black  eyes 
watching  every  move  the  soldier  made. 

Noting  that  his  patient  was  rounding  up 
nicely,  and  fearing  that  he  might  cry  for  assist- 
ance, Johnny  proceeded  to  make  the  situation, 
clear  to  the  Fihpino.  Not  daring  to  use  fii-e 
arms  for  fear  of  bringing  a  swarm  of  brown 


148  JOHNNY 

bellies  about  his  ears,  he  had  not  yet  drawn  a 
revolver.  He  did  so  now,  however,  although 
with  as  little  intention  of  using  it  as  ever.  Level- 
ing the  navy  at  the  wounded  man's  head  he  said : 
''I  don't  know  whether  you  savvy  my  language 
or  not,  Mr.  Agramonte,  but  I  reckon  you  can 
savvy  sign  language  all  right.  You  saved  me  a 
lot  o'  trouble  when  you  an'  your  partner  did 
the  wild  cat  act  on  my  back.  I  was  sure  lookin' 
for  you,  but  I  didn't  expect  to  come  up  with  you 
quite  so  immediate.  Seein'  as  how  you  saved  me 
so  much  trouble,  I'll  give  you  a  tip  that  '11  save 
you  some.  If  you  open  your  yap,  even  to  whis- 
per, I'll  scatter  your  brains  all  over  the  prov- 
ince. I've  got  a  pressin'  engagement  to  take 
you  to  headquarters,  and  this  is  a  mighty  good 
place  to  start  from.  It's  just  about  time  to 
mosey,  too,  for  some  of  your  friends  is  likely  to 
rubber  down  here  to  see  what's  doin'." 

Agramonte  evidently  ''savvied,"  but  he  con- 
tented himself  with  glaring  at  his  conqueror  as 
some  captive  savage  beast  might  have  done. 
It  required  httle  discernment  to  guess  what  he 
would  have  done  to  the  Americano,  had  their 
respective  positions  been  reversed. 

Still  menacing  the  Filipino  with  the  revolv- 
er, Johnny  compelled  him  to  struggle  to  his 


JOHNNY  149 

feet  as  best  he  could.  Unwinding  his  lariat 
he  put  the  noose  about  his  captive's  neck. 
Thinking  evidently  that  he  was  about  to  be 
hanged  and  thus  receive  poetic  justice,  Agra- 
monte  would  have  cried  out,  had  not  his  captor 
suddenly  tugged  at  the  lasso,  thus  choking  the 
sound  of  alarm  in  his  brown  throat.  The 
strangling  process  was  quite  effective,  and  when 
the  noose  was  loosened  the  prisoner  was  as 
docile  as  could  have  oeen  desired. 

Leaving  some  six  feet  of  rope  between  him- 
self and  his  captive,  the  sergeant,  after  adjust- 
ing the  noose,  wound  the  other  end  of  the  lariat 
about  his  own  body.  This  done,  he  said, 
''Now,  Mr.  Fihpino,  you  can't  lose  me,  and 
if  you  don't  object  we'll  take  a  little  stroll  to- 
gether. Just  to  be  perlite  I'll  let  you  go  first, 
so  just  mosey  right  along  an'  don't  look  back 
or  make  any  noise.  If  you  bat  your  eye  in  a 
way  I  don't  like,  away  '11  go  your  brains  to 
fertilize  the  Island  of  Luzon.  It's  us  for  the 
river,  so  skip  along,  an'  make  it  lively." 

But  making  it  lively  w^as  easier  said  than 
done.  Neither  the  prisoner  nor  the  captive 
was  in  condition  to  travel  rapidly,  and  the 
mere  effort  of  clambering  do^^ai  the  river  bank 
was  almost  the  limit  of  their  endurance.     But 


150  JOHNNY 

Johnny  shut  his  teeth  together  hke  the  bars 
of  a  steel  trap,  and  pushing  the  tottering  Fili- 
pino roughly  into  the  water,  waded  slowly 
after  him,  retracing  the  same  route  he  had 
traversed  in  crossing  the  river.  In  theii-  ex- 
hausted condition  it  was  not  easy  for  the  men 
to  maintain  their  footing.  Agramonte's  feet 
slipped  from  under  him  several  times,  bring- 
ing him  face  downward  on  the  sand  and  rocks 
of  the  river  bed.  The  soldier,  although  himself 
in  little  better  form  than  his  prisoner,  by  a 
supreme  effort  raised  the  latter  to  his  feet  and 
relentlessly  urged  him  on.  The  island  reached, 
the  two  fell  exhausted. 

As  the  soldier  and  his  prisoner  lay  pant- 
ing upon  the  ground  it  seemed  to  Johnny  that 
rest  was  the  onl}^  thing  worth  living  for.  He 
did  not  dare  gratify  his  inclination  in  that  di- 
rection, however.  The  body  of  the  dead  Fili- 
pino was  likely  to  be  found  at  any  moment, 
for  it  was  probable  that  he  had  been  on  picket 
duty,  and  if  so,  a  relief  would  probably  be  sent 
to  that  point  before  long.  Pursuit  once  begxin, 
escape  would  be  well  nigh  impossible.  Should 
he  be  captured  the  soldier  knew  only  too  well 
what  would  happen.     Another  ghastly  token 


JOHNNY  151 

of  Agramonte's  affection  would  be  sent  to  the 
American  camp. 

Staggering  to  his  feet,  Johnny  fairly  dragged 
his  prisoner  to  a  standing  posture.  He  com- 
pelled the  Filipino  to  take  several  swallows 
of  the  whiskey,  drank  a  stiff  one  himself,  and 
driving  Agramonte  before  him  continued  on 
his  way  around  the  edge  of  the  island.  When 
they  arrived  at  the  opposite  side,  the  Fihpino, 
gazing  terror  stricken  at  the  swift  cm-rent  in 
mid-stream,  stopped  short  and  shook  his  head 
in  feeble  protest  against  entering  the  water. 

''It  does  look  middhn'  dubious,  that's  a  fact, 
an'  it's  goin'  to  be  a  close  call,  but  we've  got 
to  make  it,"  said  Johnny.  "I  promised  the  Cap- 
tain that  I'd  land  you  at  the  door  of  his  tent, 
and  land  you  I  will.  He'd  be  glad  to  have 
your  head  to  even  up  for  poor  Jack  Kennedy's, 
but  it'll  please  him  better  if  I  dehver  your 
ugly  carcass  to  him  w^hole.  In  with  you,  d — n 
you,  and  no  monkey  business  or  I'll" — and 
Johnny  cocked  his  revolver,  which  clicked  sug- 
gestively. 

The  Fihpino  slipped  into  the  water  and 
would  have  gone  down  post  haste,  had  not  the 
soldier  supported  him  by  his  tangle  of  coarse 
hair.    And  then  began  the  supreme  struggle. 


152  JOHNNY 

Many  times  as  he  battled  with  the  current 
did  Johnny  regret  that  he  had  not  decapitated 
Agramonte  and  taken  his  head  into  camp. 
But  once  in  the  swift  running  water  he  would 
not  weaken,  nor  would  he  let  go  of  his  prisoner. 
He  resolved  that  if  Agramonte  went  down, 
he  would  drown  with  him,  rather  than  return 
to  the  captain  empty  handed.  Twice  the  two 
struggHng  men  were  swept  under,  but  thanks 
to  Johnny's  bull  dog  grit  rose  again.  They 
were  swimming  diagonally  against  the  cur- 
rent, and  it  was  almost  miraculous  that  both 
men  were  not  drowned.  Had  the  middle  chan- 
nel been  a  few  yards  wider,  they  certainly 
would  never  have  lived  to  reach  the  next  is- 
land. 

But  reach  the  island  they  did,  and  with  a 
desperate  effort  Johnny  pulled  himself  upon 
dry  land,  dragging  his  half  dead  charge  after 
him.  After  a  somewhat  longer  rest  than  be- 
fore, the  two  again  entered  the  water,  and 
with  great  difficulty  waded  to  shore  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  Batolan.  Once  the  awful 
strain  of  crossing  the  river  was  over,  there  was 
no  longer  any  choice  in  the  matter  of  resting; 
both  men  fell  exhausted;  Johnny  had  barely 
strength  enough  left  to  crawl  into  the  brake 


JOHNNY  153 

out  of  the  range  of  vision  of  possible  stray  Fil- 
ipinos and  pull  his  half  dead  captive  after  him. 

The  sun  was  well  up  in  the  heavens  and 
beating  mercilessly  down  upon  captor  and  cap- 
tive before  Johnny  was  able  to  move.  He 
finally  managed  to  get  upon  his  feet  again  and 
decided  to  take  a  fresh  start  toward  the  camp. 
It  seemed  safer  to  take  the  chance  of  meeting 
hostile  natives  in  the  jungle  in  broad  day- 
hght,  than  to  remain  until  nightfall  and  then 
run  the  risk  of  being  found  by  a  searching  par- 
ty of  the  enemy.  The  Filipino,  how^ever,  was 
unable  to  rise.  He  was  wounded  no  more  se- 
verely than  his  captor,  and  surely  should  have 
been  no  worse  affected  by  the  fatigue  of  his 
journey,  but  he  was  a  prisoner,  and  lacked  the 
spirit  of  a  victor,  and,  like  most  children  of 
the  tropics,  he  had  not  the  physical  nor  moral 
fibre  of  which  strenuous  heroes  are  made. 
He  was  certainly  ''all  in,"  much  to  our  sol- 
dier's dismay.  Urging  and  threats  ahke  were 
without  avail,  and  when  dragged  to  his  feet 
the  renegade  fell  to  the  ground  again  as  Ump 
as  a  rag.  Knowing  that  camp  was  but  a  few 
hours  distant,  Johnny's  disgust  at  the  situa- 
tion was  most  violent,  and  he  swore  in  salvos. 

"You  d — d  cut-throat,  you're  more  trouble 


154  JOHNNY 

than  your  miserable  neck  is  worth!  You 
might  have  been  game  enough  to  stick  to  the 
finish.  But  you  wasn't,  so  there  you  are,  an' 
I  reckon  it's  up  to  me  to  get  you  to  camp  the 
best  way  I  can.  Come,  Aggie,  old  boy,  an' 
rest  on  this  bosom;"  saying  which,  the  soldier 
helped  the  Fihpino  to  his  feet  once  more,  and 
half  carrying,  half  dragging  the  almost  helpless 
man,  struck  out  through  the  brake. 

The  will  is  a  wonderful  thing; — it  conquers 
worlds, — ^but  no  man's  will  is  so  strong  that 
extreme  physical  weakness  will  not  defeat  it. 
Johnny's  nerve  was  impregnable,  but  wounded 
and  fatigued  as  he  was,  his  physical  strength 
could  not  withstand  the  additional  strain  put 
upon  it  by  the  endeavor  to  assist  the  Filipino 
through  the  jungle.  Then  too,  his  wounds  had 
become  inflamed  and  very  painful.  He  felt 
alternately  hot  and  cold,  and  finally  had  a  chill 
that  fairly  made  his  teeth  rattle.  This  was 
followed  by  a  tremendous  fever.  The  poor 
fellow  felt  as  though  he  were  on  fire.  Things 
began  to  look  queer.  From  time  to  time  he 
fancied  he  saw  fantastic  shapes  amid  the  brake. 
Sometimes  huge,  fiercely  snarling  animals  seem- 
ed to  brush  by  him.  Again,  a  Filipino,  twice 
as  large  as  fife,  leered  at  him  from  l^ehind  every 


JOHNNY  155 

bush  and  tree.  Once  he  fancied  he  saw  the 
huge  serpent  that  had  flailed  his  chest  the 
night  he  spent  in  traversing  the  jungle.  Its 
horrid  mouth  yawned  widely,  and  he  heard  it 
callmg  in  a  hoarse  roaring  voice  the  multi- 
tudinous folk  of  the  jungle.  And  the  soldier 
knew  that  the  delirium  of  wound  fever  was 
upon  him,  and  feared  lest  he  should  lose  his 
senses  altogether. 

Bad  as  was  his  captor's  condition,  the  Fih- 
pino's  was  much  worse.  When  nature  could 
stand  no  more,  and  Johnny  was  finally  com- 
pelled to  drop  the  renegade,  it  was  evident  that 
the  latter's  end  was  in  sight.  A  few  drops  of 
whiskey  pom-ed  down  his  throat  revived  him 
for  a  brief  period,  but  it  was  hate's  labor  lost, 
for  within  the  hour  Agramonte  gave  a  faint 
expiring  sigh  and  joined  the  shades  of  his 
brown  skinned  ancestors. 

Johnny  had  fallen  exhausted  beside  the  body 
of  his  captive  and  supporting  himself  on  his 
elbow  had  watched,  in  his  lucid  intervals,  the 
passing  of  his  chances  of  delivering  the  living 
Agramonte  to  Captain  Benning.  The  FiHpino 
dead,  there  was  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done. 
The  gathering  of  evidence  was  as  simple  as 
it  was   gruesome;     he    drew    his    knife    and 


156  JOHNNY 

decapitated  the  body,  making  in  his  weakened 
condition,  it  must  be  confessed,  rather  a 
"hacky,"  tearing  job  of  it.  The  head  removed 
and  tied  by  its  long  hair  to  his  belt,  Johnny 
rose  to  his  feet  and  totteringly  resumed  his 
journey  toward  camp. 

As  our  soldier  uncertainly  blundered  on 
through  the  brake,  his  fever  rose  higher  and 
higher  and  his  dehrium  increased.  There  were 
no  longer  any  lucid  intervals,  and  the  direction 
of  his  steps  was  largelj^  a  matter  of  chance. 
Good  luck,  rather  than  vohtion  guided  him,  but 
while  his  course  was  the  proper  one,  luck  was 
not  always  with  him.  Several  times  his  feet 
became  entangled  in  the  undergrowth  and 
he  fell  heavily.  Again,  as  he  struggled  to  his 
feet  and  stumbled  blindly  on,  he  crashed 
against  a  tree  so  violently  that  only  the  ficti- 
tious strength  of  delirium  prevented  his  being 
incapacitated  from  further  effort.  But  every 
step  was  bring  him  nearer  his  comrades,  and 
nearer  the  fulfillment  of  the  promise  which  no 
longer  meant  anything  to  him,  poor  boy. 

The  evening  relief  of  sentries  had  just  been 
made  by  Company  K.  The  sun  had  dropped 
his  huge  glowing  ball  of  molten  copper  behind 


JOHNNY  157 

the  hills  to  the  west  of  Masillo.  The  waning 
light  was  playing  hide  and  seek  with  the  flick- 
ering, erratic  shadows  of  wood  and  brake.  At 
the  edge  of  the  little  clearing  just  outside  the 
town  stood  a  khaki  clad  sentry.  He  was  leaning 
upon  his  rifle  and  gazing  abstractedly  into  the 
jungle,  thinking,  perhaps,  of  that  rancher's 
daughter  in  far-away  Montana.  As  he  stood 
there  musing,  his  attention  was  suddenly 
attracted  by  a  rustling  sound  amid  the  under- 
growth some  distance  away.  He  instantly 
brought  his  gun  to  a  ready,  and  peered  excit- 
edly into  the  jungle.     The  sound  grew  plainer. 

"Halt!  Who  goes  there?" 

A  shape  as  of  a  man  creeping  stealthily 
along  through  the  brake  upon  his  hands  and 
knees  became  dimly  discernible.  Again  the 
sentry's  voice  rang  out. 

''Halt,  or  I  fire!" 

The  shape,  now  plainly  that  of  a  man,  crept 
nearer  and  still  nearer. 

The  Krag  cracked  like  a  huge  whip,  a  thin, 
filmy  cloud  of  smoke  arose  from  the  nitro,  and 
the  creeping  form  in  the  brake  fell  forward  upon 
its  face  without  a  sound. 

"Corporal  of  the  guard,  post  seven!"  shouted 
the  sentry. 


158  JOHNNY 

The  regulation  call  was  unnecessary  for, 
immediately  the  rifle  cracked,  a  squad  of  the 
sentry's  comrades  with  the  corporal  at  their 
head  rushed  to  the  spot. 

"I've  bagged  a  brown  belly,  I  think,"  said 
the  sentry,  waving  his  hand  in  the  direction  of 
the  spot  where  his  quarry  had  fallen. 

The  corporal,  followed  by  his  men,  cautiously 
approached  the  spot  indicated  by  the  sentry. 
A  few  minutes  search  in  the  cane  and  they 
came  upon  a  body  clothed  in  tattered  khaki. 
Hanging  from  the  belt  at  the  dead  man's  side, 
was  the  recently  decapitated  head  of  a  Filipino. 

The  startled  coiporal  turned  the  body  over 
upon  its  back.  He  gave  one  horrified  glance 
of  recognition  at  the  dead  man's  face  and 
exclaimed,  ''My  God!  It's  Johnny!" 

Tenderly  the  men  in  Idiaki  raised  the  fimp 
form  of  their  fallen  conu^ade  and  silently  bore 
it  past  the  horror  stricken  sentry  into  the  camp. 
Halting  before  the  captain's  tent,  they  laid  the 
body  down  and  covered  it  reverently  with  a 
blanket. 

The  corporal  approached  the  door  of  the  tent 
and  addressing  his  commander,  said  sorrow- 
fully, his  eyes  wet  with  tears,  ''Sir,  Johnny  has 
returned." 


JOHNNY  159 

Captain  Benning  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
exclaimed,  ''WTiere  is  he;  why  does  he  not 
report?" 

''He  is  here,  sir,"  repUed  the  corporal.  The 
captain  went  to  the  door  of  the  tent,  and  not 
seeing  Johnny,  looked  at  the  corporal  inquu'- 
ingiy. 

The  corporal  pointed  to  the  body  lying 
almost  at  the  officer's  feet  and  said,  ''That's 
him,  sir." 

The  captain  raised  the  blanket,  and  gazed 
long  and  silently  at  the  dead  soldier  and  the 
gory  testimonial  of  duty  performed  that  lay 
beside  him. 

The  silence  was  finally  broken  by  the  corpo- 
ral, who  said,  as  his  hand  rose  slowly  in  salute — 

"Sir,  Johnny  has  made  good." 

And  the  captain  replied,  huskily: 

"Yes,  boys,  too  good." 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDER- 
TAKER 


I  have  become  quite  convinced  that  the  most 
entertaining  man  in  the  world  is  the  undertaker. 
Now,  I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  there  is  any- 
thing original  about  my  observations.  Others 
have  in  all  probabihty  frequently  commented 
on  his  peculiarities — but  I  nevertheless  feel  that 
it  is  my  duty  to  give  him  a  httle  attention  in 
order  to  repay  him,  at  least  in  part,  for  the  many 
favors  received  at  his  hands. 

Let  it  be  understood  that  I  am  no  more  in- 
debted to  the  "post-medical  profession"  than 
are  many  other  physicians,  but  I  am  peculiar 
in  that  1  always  hke  to  express  my  gratitude  to 
those  who  have  befriended  me — and  if  there  is 
any  office  that  friendship  can  perform  for  us, 
equal  to  conceahng  one's  mistakes  and  hiding 
one's  failures  from  the  gaze  of  a  carping  and 
cruel  world,  I  don't  know  what  it  is. 

Another  reason  for  my  determination  to  de- 
vote a  httle  personal  attention  to  the  undertaker 
is  that  he  is  a  much  maligned  and  misunder- 
stood person.    He  is  supposed  to  be  heartless  and 

160 


"CUSTOM-.MADK  SOIfliOW" 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER  161 

unfeeling,  and  is  usually  considered  austere  and 
unapproachable;  some  say  he  has  no  generosity. 

It  shall  be  my  pleasure,  as  well  as  my  duty,  to 
correct  these  erroneous  impressions  regarding 
a  noble  craft  that  has  always  taken  a  Uvely  in- 
terest in  its  patrons — an  interest  that  has  never 
been  reciprocated  by  those  most  benefited  by 
the  undertaker's  labors. 

There  may  be  captious  critics  who  will  differ 
with  my  belief  that  the  undertaker  is  the  most 
entertaining  man  in  the  world,  on  the  ground 
that  those  whom  he  entertains  never  give 
him  any  encores.  This  is  very  easily  explained. 
There  are  no  gallery  gods  at  his  entertainments, 
and  the  people  in  the  boxes  are  never  demon- 
strative. They  are  people  of  taste  and  dis- 
cretion, and  rather  reserved  and  sedate  than 
otherwise;  —  knowing  when  they  have  had 
enough  of  a  good  thing,  they  do  not  attempt 
to  recall  the  artist  Unquestionably,  the 
chief  patrons  of  the  undertaker  are  people  of 
refined  susceptibilities  and  not  given  to  dem- 
onstration. Even  when  a  clod  is  rung  m 
upon  the  boards,  they  give  no  sign  of  any- 
thing but  courteous  and  silent  attention — 
although  the  nerves  of  others  in  the  audience 
may  be  fairly  set  on  edge.     It  is  hardly  nee- 


162  MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER 

essary  to  expatiate  further  on  my  first  prop- 
osition. 

The  austerity  of  the  undertaker  is  more 
apparent  than  real,  and  is  the  result  of  asso- 
ciation rather  than  innate  acerbity  of  feeling. 
Even  when  he  is  iciest  and  most  frigid  in  his 
ways  it  is  for  the  benefit  of  others.  By  such 
a  demeanor  he  enables  his  patrons  to  maintain 
their  composure  even  under  circumstances  the 
most  trying  and  in  all  kinds  of  weather.  What 
though  he  does  shroud  his  real  feelings  in  an 
atmosphere  of  chilhng  reserve,  so  long  as  his 
heart  is  warm  and  true!  Were  he  less  calm 
and  philosophic,  he  might  err  on  the  side  of 
sympathy  and  ere  long  some  of  his  friends 
would  find  that  they  had  unconsciously  been 
placed  in  a  very  bad  box. 

As  to  his  being  unapproachable,  I  believe 
that  the  undertaker  is  misunderstood.  It  is 
true  that  he  does  not  thrust  himself  forward 
in  a  pretentious  manner — as  do  some  people 
of  inferior  breeding — nor  has  he  ever  been 
known  to  meet  a  patron  half  way,  but  just  let 
one  of  your  friends  hint  that  you  need  his  serv- 
ices and  see  how  quickly  he  will  put  in  an 
appearance.  And  he  will  not  pay  you  un- 
necessarily prolonged  visits  either,  and  should 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER  163 

you  be  compelled  to  entertain  him  for  a  time, 
he  is  a  quite  inexpensive  guest — he  always  fur- 
nishes his  own  board.  He  is  even  Hkely  to  be 
offended  if  you  force  your  hospitahty  upon  him. 
One  of  my  friends  once  made  this  mistake, 
and  the  undertaker  gave  him  a  great  laying  out , 
I  assure  you. 

V\^e  mustn't  be  too  hard  upon  the  undertaker, 
then,  even  though  he  is  a  trifle  stiff  and  con- 
ventional in  his  ways.  His  work  fm-nishes 
him  with  subjects  for  contemplation  which 
are  so  serious,  and  of  such  monumental  im- 
portance, that  it  is  small  wonder  he  should 
acquire  a  somewhat  funereal  and  solemn  de- 
meanor. 

I  have  often  marveled  at  the  equability 
of  temper  displayed  by  the  undertaker.  I  never 
heard  of  his  swearing  at,  oi  using  rough  lan- 
guage to  his  patrons.  He  has  such  a  sooth- 
ing way  with  him,  too;  whenever  he  notices 
that  his  patron  is  inclined  to  get  a  httle  hot- 
headed he  does  everything  in  his  power  to 
allay  his  warmth,  knowing  full  well  that  the 
the  man  will  get  cooled  down  after  a  while. 
And  his  judgment  is  rarely  at  fault — the  other 
fellow  always  does  cool  down.  You  see,  it^s 
a  poor  quarrel  that  won't  keep — and  the  under- 


164  MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER 

taker's  differences  with  his  patrons  are  no  ex- 
ception  to   the   rule. 

It  has  always  been  a  source  of  wonderment 
to  me,  that  any  one  could  accuse  the  under- 
taker of  being  heartless  and  unfeehng.  Why, 
I  have  known  undertakers  who  were  the  acme 
of  tender  susceptibility  and  deUcacy  of  feel- 
ing. One  mortuary  gentleman  whom  I  knew, 
had  such  a  sympathetic  vein  in  his  composi- 
tion that  he  used  to  mix  lamp  black  with  his 
embalming  fluid.  So  considerate  and  thought- 
ful of  him,  was  it  not?  And  shall  we  say  of 
such  men,  'They  are  heartless  and  unfeeling?" 
Never ! 

And  what  shall  we  say  of  the  '^funeral  di- 
rector" who  had  buried  six  husbands  for  a 
lady,  and  who,  knowing  how  sensitive  she  was 
upon  the  subject,  upholstered  her  own  mor- 
tuary receptacle  with  v/hite  satin  marked  with 
six  dehcate  bands  of  heliotrope?  Could  any 
human  being  display  a  finer  intuitive  percep- 
tion of  the  eternal  fitness  of  things? 

No,  the  undertaker  is  not  unsympathetic, 
and  he  is  delicacy  personified. 

Let  us  cultivate  the  undertaker — he  does 
all  he  can  to  cultivate  us.  And  he  is  an  un- 
selfish   cultivator   too — he  knoweth   full   well 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER  165 

that  what  he  soweth  he  cannot  reap.  Let 
us  cultivate  him,  therefore,  and  do  our  best  to 
repay  him  for  his  kindness  to  humanity.  And 
we  may  possibly  profit  thereby,  for  pleas- 
ant associations  retard  the  decay  of  these  mor- 
tal frames  of  ours — the  remorseless  scythe  of 
time  blunts  upon  those  fortunate  mortals  who 
are  favored  by  the  kindly  offices  of  the  skillful 
undertaker.  To  them  we  may  not  inappro- 
priately say,  ''How  well  preserved  you  are!" 

How  well,  indeed ' 

It  would  seem  unnecessary  to  say  that  the 
popular  notion  regarding  the  undertaker's  lack 
of  generosity  is  wrong — the  fact  should  be  self- 
evident.  I  feel,  however,  that  my  whole  duty 
would  not  be  done,  did  I  not  say  that  in  my 
opinion  the  undertaker  is  one  of  the  most  gener- 
ous of  men.  What  merchant  would  ever  dis- 
miss a  patron  without  an  endeavor  to  secure  his 
future  patronage?  None,  I  fancy.  But  not 
so  your  undertaker — ^he  is  willing,  aye,  even 
anxious,  to  let  somebody  else  have  his  patrons 
after  he  has  filled  their  first  order.  He  is  often, 
apparently,  very  glad  to  get  his  customers  off 
his  hands — not  caring  a  whit  if  some  professional 
rival  gets  their  custom.  And  the  social  position 
of  his  patron  seems  to  make  no  material  differ- 


166  MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER 

ence — indeed,  the  ''higher"  the  person,  the  more 
anxious  the  undertaker  is  to  see  the  case  fall 
into  some  rival's  hands.  Some  might  say  that 
this  is  due  to  a  disposition  to  make  game  of  the 
customer,  but  I  don't  believe  it. 

There  is  one  characteristic  that  distinguishes 
the  undertaker  from  the  common  herd  of  men 
with  mercantile  instincts;  he  is  scrupulously 
honest.  He  always  gives  full  measure.  This 
is  very  comforting  to  his  patrons — especially 
those  who  like  a  comfortable  fit.  There  is  not 
a  tailoring  establishment  in  this  blessed  town 
that  can  show  such  a  record  as  my  friend  Blank, 
the  undertaker.  Why,  he  has  been  making 
underclothing  most  all  his  life  and  never  yet 
had  a  misfit  turned  back  on  his  hands. 

I  tell  you  what,  my  good  friends,  the  under- 
taker is  the  last  man  in  the  world  with  whom 
we  have  occasion  to  find  fault. 

I  shall  always  entertain  a  high  personal 
regard  for  some  of  the  members  of  the  under- 
taking profession. 

If  there  is  any  attribute  of  man  especially  to 
be  admired,  it  is  a  keen  sense  of  humor.  One 
of  my  undertaker  friends— long  since  dead  and 
gone  to  a  just  reward — one  Nathaniel  Black, 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER  167 

had  this  faculty  developed  to  a  preternatural 
degree. 

There  was  something  very  impressive  in  the 
skillful  manner  in  which  Nathaniel  used  to  con- 
ceal his  humorous  impulses  while  in  the  presence 
of  death.  His  air  of  subdued  merriment  was, 
it  is  true,  painful  at  times, — especially  to  himself 
— but  this  made  it  all  the  more  impressive,  as 
showing  how  some  spirits  can,  by  exercising  will 
power,  rise  superior  to  their  immediate  surround- 
ings. 

\Mien  my  friend  Black  was  away  from  the 
actual  presence  of  a  corpse,  he  would  unbend 
and  show  the  true  inward  cussedness  of  the  born 
humorist — with  the  evident  self-sacrificing  pur- 
pose of  making  Hfe  pleasant  for  his  many 
friends.  I  happened  to  be  one  of  the  fortunate 
individuals  who  luxuriated  in  his  friendship,  and 
will  cheerfully  bear  testimony  to  his  devotion 
to  the  occupation  of  increasing  the  happiness  of 
those  about  him.  I  feel  that  I  could  do  no  less, 
without  stamping  myself  an  ingrate. 

One  of  the  first  things  I  did  on  entering 
practice,  many  years  ago,  was  to  invest  in  a 
t>T)ic  doctor's  buggj^  This  was  done  in  seK- 
defense — my  face  was  as  smooth  as  a  pippin, 
my   mustache   was   a    caricature   of   the   real 


168  I\IY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER 

article  and,  taken  all  in  all,  there  was  nothing 
about  me  to  inspire  confidence.  There  was 
consequently  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  that  was 
to  look  and  act  as  professional  and  prosperous 
as  possible.  It  was  with  this  end  in  view  that 
I  bought  a  buggy  which  looked  unmistakably 
professional.  As  I  had  many  friends  and 
acquaintances,  the  moral  effect  of  my  turn-out 
was  excellent.  Had  I  been  able  to  live  on 
moral  effect  Ufe  would  have  been  one  vast  smile 
of  peaceful,  well-fed  joy  and  contentment,  but 
I  could  not  dine  on  any  sort  of  effect,  least  of  all 
upon  the  moral  variety — ^which  is  a  delusion 
and  a  snare. 

Observing  the  marked  attention  that  was 
paid  to  my  equipage — and  incidentally  to  the 
prosperous  young  doctor — I  was  v/ell  pleased; 
there  were  times  when  even  my  stomach  was 
forgotten.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  better 
to  ride  on  an  empty  stomach  than  to  walk  upon 
a  full  one,  provided  I  attracted  sufficient  atten- 
tion to  warrant  my  remaining  in  practice — or 
the  hope  of  practice. 

On  some  occasions  the  people  I  met  appeared 
especially  delighted  with  my  appearance.  Be- 
ing self-satisfied  with  the  notion  that  I  was  at 
last  beginning  to  be  appreciated,  I  made  no 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER  169 

investigations  to  determine  why  so  much  more 
attention  should  be  paid  to  me  on  some  occa- 
sions than  upon  others.  Such  is  the  bhnding 
power  of  self-conceit ! 

The  advisability  of  hiring  a  colored  driver 
suggested  itself  to  me  as  an  additional  bait  for 
popular  applause.     The  idea  so  impressed  me 

that  I  consulted  one  of  my  friends,  Jack  T 

about  it.  He  advised  me  to  wait  a  w^hile,  and 
seemed  much  entertained  by  mj^  story  of  increas- 
ing popularity. 

"Well,  my  boy,"  said  he,  smilingly,  "you  are 
indeed  getting  on  in  the  world.  Let  me  see — 
you  lecture  at  a  medical  college,  are  surgeon  to 
a  free  dispensary,  physician  to  the  order  of  Sons 
of  the  Blue  Hen,  physician  to  the  hospital  of 
the  Big  Sisters  of  the  Rich,  medical  examiner  for 
the  Knights  of  the  Empty  Cupboard,  and  have 
the  swellest  turnout  in  tow^n.  You  certainly 
are  to  be  congratulated." 

"Yes,  Jack,"  I  said,  "I  feel  that  my  career 
is  full  of  promise.  By  the  waj^,  old  man,  lend 
me  a  dollar,  will  you?  This  is  my  day  for  dining 
• — every  third  day,  you  know.  I'll  pay  j^ou 
back  next  week." 

"Certainly,  doctor,  I  am  happy  to  contribute 
to  the  comfort  of  one  whose  future  is  so  brightly 


170  MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER 

illumined  by — promise.  But,  nevertheless,  I 
still  maintain  that  it  is  too  early  in  the  action 
for  you  to  think  of  a  colored  coachman- — every 
third  day  is — " 

"Well,  Jack,"  I  interrupted,  ^'I  must  be 
going.  Much  obliged  for  your  contribution 
to  the  free  silver  question.  And,  by  the  way, 
I'm  just  on  my  way  to  a  meeting  of  the  county 
comjnissioners.  I'm  slated  for  the  County 
Hospital  Staff." 

"Oh — h — hi"  groaned  Jack.  "Has  j'our  am- 
bition for  wealth  no  bounds?" 

A  day  or  two  later  I  was  driving  at  a  "sent  for" 
gait,  dowD.  Michigan  Avenue,  enjoying  the 
evident  admiring  approbation  of  the  people 
whom  I  met,  when  I  saw  my  friend  Jack  a 
short  distance  ahead  of  me.  He  caught  sight 
of  me,  stopped  short  and  walked  out  to  the 
curb,  w^here  he  awaited  me  with  a  decidedly 
pleased  expression  on  his  handsome  face. 

"Hello,  doctor!"  he  cried,  as  I  drove  up  to 
him  and  reined  in  m}"  horse.  "You  seem  to 
have  a  bad  case  on  hand." 

I  winked  and  said,  "Never  mind  the  case. 
Come  along  with  me  for  a  ride.  You  have 
nothing  else  to  do  at  this  hour  of  the  day/' 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER  171 

"Don't  care  if  I  do,"  replied  my  friend, 
stepping  into  my  buggy  forthwith. 

My  rig  continued  to  attract  considerable 
attention,  much  to  Jack's  edification,  appar- 
ently. He  finally  said,  "Well,  doctor,  your 
turn-out  does  excite  the  interest  of  the  public, 
doesn't  it?" 

"So  I  have  already  informed  you,"  I  repUed. 

"Now,  see  here,  doctor,"  said  Jack,  "you 
know  that  I  am  your  friend.  As  a  friend  it  is 
my  duty  to  prevent  you  from  acquiring  that 
fatal  pride  w^hich  ever  precedes  a  fall.  I  have 
hesitated  to  explain  your  popularity  to  you, 
but  for  your  own  sake  and  to  preserve  my  own 
health,  I  must  do  so." 

"Why,  what  the  deuce  do  you  mean?"  I 
asked,  in  astonishment. 

"Look  behind  you,  doctor." 

I  looked  through  the  rear  window  of  my 
phseton,  and  saw,  about  fifty  yards  behind  me, 
a  long,  black,  undertaker's  wagon.  On  the 
seat,  driving  the  sorry-looking  steeds  that  were 
drawing  the  horribly  suggestive  vehicle,  was — 
my  friend,  Nathaniel  Black! 

My  undertaking  friend  was  by  no  means 
quietly  pursuing  his  gloomy  way,  but  was 
gesticulating  and  winking  suggestively  to  the 


172  MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER 

people  on  the  side  walk.  He  would  first  flirt 
his  knobby  thumb  in  my  direction  with  a 
"D'ye  see  him?"  gesture,  and  then,  with  a 
"That's  what  I'm  here  for"  wink  at  everybody 
in  sight,  would  grin  all  over  his  ugly  face. 

"A  horrible  coincidence!"  I  said  faintly. 

"Coincidence  nothing!"  howled  Jack.  "He's 
been  doing  that  ever  since  you  got  your  new 
buggy!" 

And  I  bought  wine  for  Nathaniel,  and  for 
Jack,  and  for  sundry  of  their  friends — ^yea, 
and  for  all  who  were  within  the  sound  of  their 
voices  in  their  daily  walks. 

But,  I  borrowed  the  wherewithal  to  settle 
from  Jack.  And,  by  and  by,  when  practice 
came,  I  gave  my  patronage  to  Nathaniel's  rivals. 

Was  the  joke  on  me? 

I  wonder. 

There  are  some  doctors  who  do  not  under- 
stand the  precise  relation  that  the  noble  pro- 
fession of  undertaking  desires  to  bear  to  the 
medical  man.  I  freely  confess  that  I  myself 
was  ignorant  on  this  point  until  quite  recently. 

In  a  certain  neighborhood  of  this  metropolis 
dwells  an  undertaker  of  more  than  local  renovv^n 
whose  reputation  has  been  built  up  largely  by 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER  173 

virtue  of  certain  natural  attributes  that  pecul- 
iarly fit  him  for  the  practice  of  his  profession; 
— indeed,  I  have  never  met  a  man  more  to  the 
manner  born  as  regards  fitness  for  his — shall  I 
say,  Hfe  work,  or  would  "death  work"  be  more 
appropriate? 

Mr.  Weeps  is  one  of  those  mournful-looking 
persons,  who  seem  to  be  constantly  on  the 
verge  of  tears.  His  expression  is  of  a  most 
sympathetic  nature,  and  his  ej^es  seem  ever 
ready  to  exude  the  saline  fluid  that  is  so  essential 
to  the  expression  of  sincere  sorrow  and  regret. 
It  might  be  remarked  in  passing,  that  there  are 
numerous  theories  explanatory  of  the  redness 
and  humidity  of  those  bleary  orbs.  Person- 
ally, I  repudiate  the  onion  theoiy  altogether, 
and  inchne  to  the  view  that  Mr.  Weeps'  ocular 
pecuharities  are  dependent  upon  a  combination 
of  catarrh  and  polj^i  obstructing  the  nasal 
ducts.  The  ''red  eye"  theory,  advanced  by 
one  of  his  homeopathic  constituents,  is  un- 
worthy of  consideration  —  especialty  as  my 
lugubrious  friend  has  been  superintendent  of 
a  JSunday  school  for  ten  years  and  has  served 
\wo  terms  as  alderman. 

But,  whatever,  may  be  the  true  explanation, 
Weeps'   eyes  appear  to  have  been  especially 


174  MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER 

designed  for  his  vocation.  There  is  no  other 
business — unless  it  be  seUing  milk — to  which 
those  watery  orbs  could  possibly  be  so  well 
adapted  as  to  undertaking. 

I  cannot  claim  to  be  on  terms  of  intimacy 
with  Mr.  Weeps,  and  therefore  do  not  feel  war- 
ranted in  attempting  a  detailed  description  of 
his  many  physical  peculiarities — ^it  would,  how- 
ever, be  manifestly  unfair  to  that  most  estimable 
gentleman,  did  I  not  dwell  upon  his  eyes. 

In  the  course  of  my  semi-occasional  peregrina- 
tions into  Mr.  Weeps'  neighborhood,  it  trans- 
pired that  one  of  my  patients,  with  malice  both 
prepense  and  aforethought — and  consumption — 
did  leave  his  little  lung  behind  and  hie  him 
heavenward. 

My  kindly  and  well  meant  offices  being  no 
longer  necessary,  I  naturally  supposed  that  my 
responsibility  had  ceased.  Not  so,  however — 
I  was  asked  to  recommend  an  undertaker. 
Having  heard  of  Mr.  Weeps  and  his  phenomenal 
skill,  I  suggested  that  the  family  consult  him  as 
to  the  further  management  of  the  case.  It 
seems  that  the  family  took  my  advice  and  was 
highly  gratified  with  the  pleasant  and  expedi- 
tious manner  in  which  he  performed  his  impor- 
tant functions.     Indeed,  the  friends  of  the  party 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERT.\KER  175 

chiefly  interested  were  so  well  pleased,  that  they 
thanked  me  a  few  days  later,  for  recommending 
a  gentleman  of  so  much  talent  and  such  a  sym- 
pathetic nature.  I,  of  course,  appreciated  the 
family's  gratitude,  although  the  service  rendered 
was  quite  unusual  in  my  experience.  Some 
unfeehng  persons  might  say  that  the  large  Hfe 
insurance  policies  left  by  the  deceased  were  an 
element  in  the  gratitude  the  family  expressed  to 
me,  but,  my  dear  reader,  the  very  thought  would 
be  cruel  and  ignoble.  Without  confidence  in 
human  nature  Hfe  would  be  miserable  for  all  of 
us — and  especially  for  doctors. 

A  few  days  after  the  funeral  I  received  a  call 
from  Mr.  Weeps.  There  seemed  to  be  no  end 
to  the  gratitude  which  was  beheved  to  be  due 
me.  Weeps  had  called  to  express  his.  He 
appeared  to  be  as  well  pleased  with  the  family 
as  its  members  were  with  him. 

I  had  never  had  the  honor  of  meeting  Mr. 
Weeps  before,  but  his  suave  and  cordial  manner 
of  introducing  himself  put  me  at  my  ease  at 
once.  The  pleasure  of  acquaintance  was  of 
course  mutual;  it  always  is,  you  know. 

After  thanking  me  most  cordially  for  my 
courtesy  in  referring  the  case  of  the  late  Mr. 
B to  him,  Mr.  Weeps  said : 


176  ^lY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAIvER 

"Now,  doctor,  I  shall  always  be  glad  to  have 
you  remember  me  whenever  you  happen  to  be 
in  my  neighborhood." 

I  looked  at  him  suspiciousl}^,  but  saw  no 
murder  in  his  eye;  he  was  as  oily  and  plausible 
as  ever. 

'Tou  see,"  he  continued,  "1  have  never  had 
the  honor  of  serving  any  of  your  patients  before, 
and  am  very  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
getting  at  least  a  small  portion  of  your  business." 

The  fellow  seemed  to  be  getting  a  httle  per- 
sonal, but  I  made  no  remark,  and  he  went  on 
with  his  little  piece. 

"I  will  see  you  again  in  a  few  days,  doctor — 
as  soon  as  I  have  been  compensated  for  my 
labors  in  this  particular  case.  You,  of  course, 
understand  that  I  will  extend  to  you  in  this 
case,  as  in  all  future  cases,  the  same  courtesies 
I  usually  extend  to  the  medical  profession." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  I  exclaimed,  "and  of  what  do 
those  courtesies  consist?" 

"Weil,"  he  repHed,  blandly,  "they  are  quite 
liberal,  considering  the  hard  times — about  twenty- 
five  per  cent  J' 

''  'Tis  strange — but  true;  for  truth  is  always  strange. 
Stranger  than  fiction." 

Among  all  the  undertakers  I  ever  knew  my 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER  177 

feelings  have  been  seriously  disturbed  by  but 
one. 

The  gentleman  in  question  is  fat,  jolly — when 
off  duty — and  a  hon  vivant  of  the  ideal  type. 
He  is  a  ubiquitous  sort  of  chap,  and  I  find  myself 
stumbling  over  him  quite  frequently  —  in  the 
most  unexpected  places  and  under  the  most 
embarassing  circumstances.  No  social  gather- 
ing seems  to  be  complete  without  him — much 
to  my  discomfiture. 

Words  cannot  express  the  embarassment  I 
have  suffered  at  the  hands  of  my  fat  friend. 
The  worst  of  the  matter  is  that  the  fellow  really 
likes  me — ^you  need  n't  smile,  gentle  reader; 
his  fondness  does  not  depend  upon  reasons  of 
a  business  nature;  he  likes  me  for  myself  alone. 
It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  I  cannot  afford 
to  say  anything  which  might  by  any  possibihty 
offend  him.  Aside  from  his  affection  for  me, 
there  is  another  motive  which  impels  me  to 
avoid  personalities — he  is  high-strung  and  sensi- 
tive to  a  degree,  and,  if  report  speaks  true,  an 
expert  boxer.  To  be  sure,  those  whom  he  has 
boxed  have  said  nothing  about  his  proficiency, 
but  where  one's  own  personal  safety  is  concerned 
one  is  justified  in  giving  due  weight  even  to  idle 
rumor. 


178  iVIY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER 

Now,  it  may  seem  strange  that  I  should  find 
fault  with  a  man  who  has  so  sincere  a  regard 
for  me  as  my  fat  friend,  but,  you  know,  even 
affection  may  be  over  done.  When  a  fellov/ 
dresses  up  on  Sunday  preparatory  to  calhng  on 
his  best  girl,  and  his  pet  dog  lavishes  caresses 
with  his  muddy  paws  on  those  eleven  dollar 
lavender  trousers,  patience  ceases  to  be  a  virtue 
— and  the  comparison  is  by  no  means  far- 
fetched. 

Whenever  I  board  a  crowded  street  car,  that 
obese  mortuary  fiend  is  always  aboard — and 
at  the  end  of  the  car  farthest  from  me.  He 
never  fails  to  see  and  recognize  me,  although  I 
go  through  as  many  motions  as  a  professional 
contortionist  in  the  vain  and  frantic  effort  to 
avoid  recognition. 

And  then  you  should  hear  him  yell,  '^Hello, 
Doc!    How  are  all  the  folks?" 

I  assure  him  that  I  am  greatly  obliged  for 
his  rather  suggestive  solicitude  for  the  welfare 
of  my  family,  and  that  the  folks  are  all  well. 

He  next  asks  me  how  business  is,  and  when  I 
answer,  ''First  rate,"  with  a  tone  of  sorrowing 
reproof  he  informs  me  that  it  is  ''very  quiet  with 
him.^'  As  if  his  business  is  not  supposed  to  be 
invariably  quiet! 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UXDERTAIvER  179 

The  party  sitting  next  me  leaves  the  car; 
the  undertaker  pushes  through  the  crowd 
and  with  a  ''How  d'ye  do,  old  man?"  and  an 
ostentatious  pump-handle  shake  of  my  hand 
that  almost  costs  me  several  fingers,  takes  the 
vacant  seat  beside  me. 

And  now  comes  a  conversation — his  part  of 
which  is  audible  to  everybody  on  the  car — rela- 
tive to  the  ''last  case  we  had  together."  The 
brute  even  mentions  the  party's  name,  which, 
if  it  happens  to  be  a  well  known  one,  excites  the 
rapt  attention  of  everybody  -within  earshot. 

He  next  proceeds  to  ask  me  to  dine  with 
him  "to-morrow"  and  comments  on  the  "elegant 
time  we  had  together  last  week." 

Finally  arriving  at  his  destination,  my  demon 
bids  me  an  affectionate  good  night  and  starts  for 
the  farther  door  of  the  car.  I  breathe  a  sigh  of 
rehef — but  too  soon.  Having  reached  the  plat- 
form he  re-opens  the  door  and  bellows  out — 

"By  the  way.  Doc!  do  you  think  old  man 
Blank  is  going  to  pull  through?  Old  friend  of 
mine,  you  knovr — I'll  probably  be  in  on  the  case 
when  the  thing's  over." 

I  went  to  the  opera  the  other  night  hop- 
ing—  aye,   determined    to   enjoy    myself,    and 


180  IVIY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER 

feeling  that  I  was  entitled  to  a  little  enjoy- 
ment, for  I  had  had  very  httle  opera  in  my 
daily  routine  for  some  months.  My  wife  was 
looking  very  well,  and  my  mirror  gave  posi- 
tive proof  that  my  new  dress  suit  was  an 
unexceptionable  fit.  All  things  considered  I 
had  every  reason  to  feel  well  satisfied  with  my- 
self and  the  world  at  large. 

But  how  vain  are  human  hopes.  We  were 
hardly  comfortably  seated,  before  I  saw  in  the 
box  directly  opposite  mine — the  fat  undertaker 
who  haunted  my  dreams ! 

I  endeavored  to  avoid  recognition,  but  it  was 
no  use.  He  saw  me,  and  gesticulated  so  wildly 
to  attract  my  attention  that  I  was  perforce 
obHged  to  respond  in  self-defense.  The  house 
being  crowded,  this  little  episode  attracted 
much  attention — especially  on  the  part  of 
numerous  friends  of  the  undertaker  and  myself, 
who,  as  luck  would  have  it,  happened  to  be 
present.  These  people  smiled  broadly;  some 
even  went  so  far  as  to  wink  significantly  at  each 
other. 

The  fat  undertaker  is  one  of  those  men  who 
succeed  in  attracting  attention  at  all  times  and 
under  all  circumstances.  On  this  occasion  he 
shone  with  effulgent  brilliancy.     He  enjoyed 


MY  FRIEND  THE  UNDERTAKER  181 

the  play — there  was  no  doubt  about  that — and 
proposed  to  make  me  enjoy  it  also.  Whenever 
the  performance  especially  pleased  him,  he 
applauded  vociferously,  quivering  all  over  like 
a  lump  of  calf's-foot  jelly  and  gesticulating 
furiously  in  my  dnection.  Having  succeeded 
in  attracting  my  attention,  he  would  jerk  his 
fat  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  artist  who  was 
favored  with  his  approbation  and  nod  emphat- 
ically at  me. 

The  audience  enjoyed  my  friend's  enthusiasm 
and  seemed  quite  anxious  to  know  how  /  was 
enjoying  it.  I  could  n't  enhghten  it  as  intelli- 
gently as  could  have  been  wished,  so  I  did  the 
next  best  thing — I  went  out  between  acts  to  see 
a  man — and  found  him  so  highly  interesting  that 
I  forgot  to  go  back.  Suddenly  remembering 
that  my  wife  was  still  in  the  box,  I  sent  an  usher 
to  inform  her  that  I  wasn't  feehng  well  and  was 
waiting  for  her  at  the  door.  Being  a  wise 
woman,  she  divined  the  cause  of  my  indisposi- 
tion and  soon  joined  me.  She  did  n't  feel  quite 
comfortable  herself,  and  was  glad  to  escape 
from — the  opera. 

I  have  forsworn  society.  I  have  bought  an 
automobile,  and  if  ever  I  go  to  the  theater 
again — may  the  fat  undertaker  seize  me! 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO 


My  friend,  Dr.  Fairweather,  was  engaged 
when  I  called,  but  it  so  happened  that  I  was 
in  no  hurry  and  could  conveniently  wait.  I 
have  since  been  glad  that  things  happened  as 
they  did ;  had  I  not  been  compelled  to  wait  and 
amuse  myself  as  best  I  could,  I  probably  should 
not  have  heard  what  to  me  was  a  most  inter- 
esting story.  The  colored  attendant  who  took 
my  card  and  announced  me  to  the  doctor, 
returned  and  said: 

"De  doctah  is  right  busy  just  now,  suh. 
He  says  fo'  you  alls  to  be  sho  to  wait,  cayse  he 
wants  to  see  you  mos'  pow'ful.  I  reckon  you 
alls  better  wait  in  dis  yeh  room,  suh.  De 
doctah  says  dat  you  must  mek  yo'sef  to 
home." 

The  servant  ushered  me  into  a  small  apart- 
ment, evidently  the  doctor's  ''den,"  and  handed 
me  the  morning  paper,  which  I  proceeded  to 
hungrily  devour.  The  paper  was  the  first  I 
had  seen  in  a  month  —  I  was  just  returning 
from  my  summer  outing  trip,  and  had  stopped 

183 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  183 

off  en  route  at  P.  to  see  my  old  friend  Fair- 
weather. 

The  doctor  was  detained  for  some  time,  and 
having  finished  reading  my  paper,  I  proceeded 
to  inspect  the  curios  with  which  the  room  was 
garnished.  I  had  examined  with  great  interest 
the  fine  collection  of  odd  Indian  rehcs  and 
the  queer  w^eapons  from  the  four  quarters  of  the 
earth,  and  was  returning  to  my  seat  by  the 
window  when  a  grinning  human  skull  upon 
the  mantel  caught  my  eye. 

It  so  happens  that  the  human  skull  is  of 
especial  interest  to  me  because  of  a  certain 
hobby  that  I  enjoy  riding  at  odd  moments.  I 
am  something  of  an  enthusiast  in  the  subjects 
of  criminology  and  the  relation  of  the  contour 
and  development  of  the  skull  to  mental  and 
moral  qualities.  It  was  with  some  curiosity 
therefore,  that  I  picked  up  the  skull  and  pro- 
ceeded to  critically  examine  it.  I  found  it  well 
worthy  of  study  and  regretted  that  I  could  give 
it  only  cursory  attention. 

The  dwarfed  frontal  development;  the  great 
length  of  the  face;  the  enormously  large,  pro- 
truding jaw;  the  hugh  orbits,  with  the  great 
projecting  bony  prominences — the  frontal  bosses 
— above    them;  the   general   hghtness    of   the 


184  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

bones;  the  unsymmetrical  conformation  of  the 
face  and  the  twisted  and  undeveloped  dome 
of  the  skull  presented  a  picture  that  is  very 
familiar  to  the  student  of  criminal  anthropology. 

So  absorbed  was  I  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  gruesome  relic  I  held  in  my  hands,  that  I 
was  not  conscious  of  the  entrance  of  Dr.  Fair- 
weather  imtil  he  spoke. 

''Hello,  old  man! — riding  your  hobby  as 
usual,  I  see.  No  time  for  your  friends,  I 
suppose." 

I  grasped  the  doctor's  welcoming  hand  and 
repHed,  ''Well,  as  you  were  busy,  I  had  to  kill 
time  as  best  I  might  with  this  gentleman.  He 
is  a  poor  conversationist,  hence  I  was  compelled 
to  utiHze  him  in  any  way  that  I  could.  I  must 
admit  that  I  have  found  him  very  interesting — 
inversely  to  his  loquacity,  in  fact." 

"Ah,  indeed ;  and  what  do  you  make  of  him?" 

"Looking  for  a  chance  to  guy  me,  eh?" 
I  repHed.  "Really,  old  fellow,  time  does  not 
mellow  you  a  bit.  Well,  guy  away.  I  am 
not  prepared  to  give  you  a  critical  dissertation 
on  this  particular  skull.  This  much  I  will  say, 
however — it  has  more  of  the  ear  marks  of  the 
degenerate  than  any  I  have  seen  for  some  time. 
The   party    who    originally    owned    the    skull 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  185 

should  have  been  a  desperado,  or  a  hold-up 
man,  although  he  may  have  passed  the  hat  in 
church  for  aught  I  know — ^which  may  be  a 
distinction  without  a  difference." 

Dr.  Fairweather  laughed  heartily.  ''Well, 
I  don't  know  but  that  I  ought  to  resent  your 
criticisms  of  the  skull.  I  can  forgive  your  slam 
at  the  church,  but  it  is  my  duty  to  inform  you 
that  the  gentleman  of  whom  that  skull  is  a 
reUc  was  a  very  particular  friend  of  mine." 

"Oh,  then  you  are  keeping  the  skull  as  a 
memento  of  your  friend.  There's  no  accounting 
for  tastes,  you  know,"  I  said,  watching  the 
doctor  suspiciously  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye 
and  recalling  that  he  had  as  strong  a  predilec- 
tion for  practical  jokes  as  I  had  for  skulls. 

"Yes,  that  is  precisely  it,"  repHed  the  doctor 
seriously.  I  have  two  mementos  of  my  dead 
friend;  one — post  mortem — you  hold  in  your 
hand;  the  other — ante  mortem — is  here,"  and 
he  threw  back  from  his  forehead  the  long,  wavy, 
dark  hair  in  which  threads  of  silver  were  begin- 
ning to  show  and  pointed  to  a  long,  Hvid, 
jagged  scar  that  traversed  his  left  temple. 

I  looked  at  the  doctor  in  surprise.  Although 
I  had  known  him  for  many  years,  I  had  never 
noticed  his  disfigurement. 


186  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  told  you  the  story,  did 
I?''  continued  the  doctor. 

I  repHed  in  the  negative,  assuring  my  friend 
that  nothing  could  please  me  better  than  to 
hear  him  tell  it. 

"Well,  I'm  through  with  patients  for  to-day, 
and  if  you  will  do  me  the  honor  of  dining  with 
me  at  the  club,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  relate 
it  to  you." 

"You  will  remember  that  I  was  formerly 
engaged  in  general  practice  in  the  little  town  of 
of  R —  in  Northern  Minnesota.  My  field  was 
an  arduous  one  and  I  could  not  select  my 
patients— on  the  contrary,  I  was  mighty  glad 
when  they  condescended  to  select  me.  It's 
quite  different  now;  I  can  be  'in'  or  'out,'  as 
I  may  elect,  when  patients  ring  my  bell.  Better 
than  all,  I  can  ask  an  old  friend  to  dine  with  me 
at  the  club.  There  is  a  club,  thank  heaven,  and 
there  is  also  the  wherewithal  nowadays." 

"I  was  fortunate  enough,  early  in  my  prac- 
tice, to  receive  an  appointment  as  the  local 
surgeon  of  the  St.  Paul  road  for  our  Httle  town. 

The  position  was  a  sinecure  in  a  way,  but  I 
captured  an  occasional  accident  case  that  paid 
something,  and  the  position  of  surgeon  to  the 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  187 

railroad  gave  me  a  certain  amount  of  prestige 
among  the  country  folk  around.  Then  too, 
I  had  an  annual  pass  over  the  road,  and  that 
helped  some.  It  would  have  helped  more 
if  I  had  had  time  to  ride  and  money  for  meals 
on  the  dining  cars.  Small  though  my  railroad 
practice  was,  however,  I  had  occasion  to  thank 
the  Lord  that  I  was  a  railroad  surgeon  and  that 
one  of  my  patients  had  a  good  memor}^,  before  I 
was  done  with  the  job. 

"The  winter  of  '80  and  '81  was  a  hard  one, 
and  practice  was  not  a  simple,  hghtsome  game. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  when  I  had  important 
work  to  do,  my  patient  was  always  a  long  way 
off  in  some  out  of  the  way  farm  house,  or  at  a 
crossing  station  where  the  trains  ran  every 
other  week. 

'The  day  before  Christmas  I  received  a  call 
to  attend  a  gunshot  injur}-,  about  fifty  miles 
from  my  home.  The  weather  was  abominable, 
being  cold  and  stormy  enough  to  make  the 
himgriest  and  most  ambitious  young  surgeon 
hesitate  to  face  it.  They  get  the  blizzards 
from  that  devihsh  Medicine  Hat  at  first  hand 
up  there,  you,  know — the  raw  stuff  in  the  way 
of  weather.  But  needs  must  when  patients 
called,  and  as  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 


188  A  GRIM  jMEMENTO 

face  the  music  I  took  the  first  and  only  avail- 
able train  for  X — . 

''My  patient  lived  some  miles  away  from  the 
little  hen  coop  of  a  station,  the  several  stores 
and  half  a  dozen  houses  that  constituted  the 
Httle  town.  A  couple  of  young  country  yokels, 
eighteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  met  me  at  the 
train  with  a  buck-board.  There  was  just  snow 
enough  drifting  to  make  the  roads  almost 
impassable  here  and  there,  but  not  enough  for 
sleighing,  so  that  the  trip  was  not  the  pleas- 
antest  I  had  ever  experienced. 

*'It  was  supper  time  before  I  had  finished 
with  the  wounded  man,  and  I  was  as  hungiy 
as  a  Sioux  Indian  on  a  long  trail  in  the  Bad 
Lands.  I  was  very  glad  to  participate  in  the 
humble  but  abundant  meal. 

''Supper  over,  I  was  informed  that  there 
was  just  time  to  catch  the  south  bound  train — 
then  to  the  buckboard  and  miserable  roads 
again;  the  gawky  country  boys  who  had  met 
me  at  the  train  still  doing  the  honors.  When 
we  arrived  at  the  station,  what  was  my  disgust 
to  learn  that  my  train  was  fully  two  hours  late. 

"The  prospect  of  spending  the  entu-e  evening 
at  a  little  tumble  down  way  station  waiting  for 
a  belated  train  was  too  uninvitmg  for  adequate 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  189 

description.  As  the  storm  was  increasing  every 
moment  and  the  fierce  wind  was  pihng  up  the 
snow  drifts  higher  and  higher  across  the  raihoad 
tracks,  there  was  no  certainty  that  the  expected 
train  would  come  at  all.  My  prospects  for  get- 
ting home  that  night  were  certainly  dubious — 
locomotives  stalled  in  snow  drifts  were  suffi- 
ciently familiar  to  me  to  make  me  decidedly 
uneasy. 

''My  friends,  the  country  boys,  seeing  my 
predicament,  offered  to  stay  with  me  until  the 
train  came,  and  although  I  protested  feebly 
against  their  discommoding  themselves  to  such 
an  extent,  I  inwardly  rejoiced  when  they 
showed  their  sincerity  by  insisting  on  remaining. 
Alas!  had  I  but  known  the  horrible  thing  that 
was  soon  to  happen,  I  should  have  returned  to 
their  home  with  them  rather  than  to  have 
allowed  the  poor  fellows  to  indulge  their  whole- 
souled  notions  of  courtesy  and  hospitahty. 

''A  cheery  fire  was  burning  in  the  stuffy  httle 
drum  stove  in  the  center  of  the  common  waiting 
room,  and  being  pretty. well  chilled  after  our 
long,  weary  ride,  I  huddled  up  as  close  to  it  as 
I  could  without  igniting  my  clothing.  The 
two  yoimg  farmers  meanwhile  inaugurated  a 
playful  wrestHng  bout  which  answered  well  in 


190  ^  GRIM  MEMENTO 

lieu  of  the  fire  in  starting  up  their  circulation. 

"In  one  corner  of  the  room  was  a  curtained 
recess,  containing  the  station  master^s  bed,  to 
which  the  owner  had  apparently  retired  early, 
as  evidenced  by  the  brassy,  nasally  whistling 
snores  which  from  time  to  time  rent  the  air  of 
the  stuffy  apartment,  making  the  environment 
rather  cheerful  and  homelike. 

"I  had  been  warming  myself  before  the  fire 
for  fully  an  hour — the  country  lads  had  grown 
tired  of  their  rough  play  and  had  seated  them- 
selves on  a  rough  bench  in  the  corner  of  the 
room,  where  they  were  nodding  and  occasionally 
snoring  an  intermittent,  shrill  falsetto  accom- 
paniment to  the  station  master's  ruder  and  less 
musical  bass.  I  had  just  discovered  that  I 
myself  was  growing  sleepy  and  was  about  to 
seat  myself  with  my  back  to  the  wall,  yield  to 
the  pressure  of  fatigue  and  join  the  sleeping 
chorus  when  I  was  brought  back  to  earth  in  a 
very  unceremonious  fashion. 

"  'Hands  up,  there !' 

'*I  turned  slowly  and  gazed  sleepily  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  voice.  The  two  country  youths 
awoke  with  a  start  and  sat  staring,  more  stu- 
pidly than  I  if  possible,  in  the  same  direction. 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  191 

'*  'Hands  up,  there,  and  be  d — d  quick  about 

itr 

''I  began  to  comprehend,  and  my  hands, 
impelled  by  a  will  which  for  the  time  being  was 
more  masterly  than  my  own,  raised  themselves, 
almost  automatically,  straight  up  in  the  air  in 
the  most  orthodox  fashion  known  to  the  annals 
of  highway  robbery.  The  country  boys  rose 
slowly  to  their  feet  and  mechanically  followed 
suit. 

'The  sleep-fog  and  the  psj^chic  confusion  of 
surprise  gradually  cleared  away,  and  I  saw  the 
tableau  clearl}' — so  clearly  that,  'an'  I  should 
live  a  thousand  years  I'd  not  forget  it'. 

"Standing  in  the  open  door  of  the  little  station 
were  two  tough  looking  men.  The  taller  of  the 
two,  the  owner  of  the  voice  that  had  so  unmu- 
sically and  ruthlessty  aroused  us,  was  a  man 
considerably  over  six  feet  in  height,  raw-boned, 
broad-shouldered,  big-hatted,  and  roughly 
dressed,  with  a  coarse  red  beard  that  evidently 
w^as  much  the  worse  for  wear  in  regions  where 
barbers  are  a  scarce  commodity.  His  eyes  were 
of  that  cold  steely  gre}^  color  which  makes  one 
think  twice  before  running  counter  to  the  wishes 
of  the  man  to  whom  they  belong. 

"The  ruffian  held  in  either  hand  a  cow  boy's 


192  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

pet,  a  long  barreled  Colt's  45 — the  kind  our 
fathers  loved;  the  kind  that  has  made  Amer- 
ican history,  and  especially  the  'bad  men'  who 
adorn  its  pages. 

"Say,  old  man,  did  you  ever  have  a  healthy, 
well  favored,  full  stomached  Colt's  45  pointed 
at  you  in  real  earnest?  Well,  if  you  haven't 
you  can't  appreciate  how  I  felt.  I  didn't  have 
to  see  that  the  hammers  of  those  particular 
guns  were  raised  to  the  proper  angle  and  ready 
for  business;  it  was  also  entirely  unnecessary 
to  waste  any  valuable  time  in  speculating  as 
to  whether  they  were  loaded  or  not.  I  actually 
felt  that  those  guns  were  at  full  cock  and  loaded 
to  the  muzzle — 'chock  a  block'.  The  muzzles  of 
the  weapons  were  more  capacious  than  I  had 
believed  it  possible  for  pistols  to  be,  and  deep 
down  in  each  of  their  yawning  throats  I  fancied 
I  could  see  a  huge  conical  ball,  ready  for  flight 
in  my  direction.  It  was  as  though  I  were  tied 
hand  and  foot  and  laid  upon  the  track  at  the 
mouth  of  a  railroad  tunnel  from  which  an 
express  train  was  thundering  down  upon  me  at 
the  rate  of  a  mile  a  minute. 

"Not  knowing  anything  of  the  desperado's 
power  of  self-control  my  own  self-possession  was 
hard  to  maintain — I  imagined  that  his  fingers 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  193 

were  a  little  trembly,  as  though  he  were  tempted 
to  pull  the  trigger  and  have  done  with  it,  but 
was  struggling  with  himself  in  the  effort  to  re- 
strain the  savage  impulse.  I  mentally  resolved 
that  I  would  neither  do  nor  say  anything  which 
should  disturb  his  poise  or  ruffle  his  equanimity. 

"Ugh!  I  could  actually  hear  the  rush  of 
the  displaced  air  and  impelling  gases  as  the 
bullets  started  from  their  hiding  places  in  the 
breeches  of  those  mighty  pistols  and,  swifter 
than  hghtning,  flew  toward  me.  I  even  fancied 
I  could  feel  the  impact  of  the  cruel  missiles 
with  my  flesh,  and  the  moist  warmth  of  the 
escaping  blood  as  they  rent  my  skin  and  muscles. 

'^Our  hands  being  elevated  to  an  angle  which 
was  satisfactory  to  the  spokesman  of  the 
bandits,  he  turned  to  his  companion  and  said: 

"  'Go  through  'em,  Bob,  and  hustle  it  up. 
The  train'U  be  here  before  we  can  say  Jack 
Robinson.  Take  that  feller  with  the  whiskers 
an'  spectacles  first.  Easy,  now,  gents;  take 
your  medicine,  and  don't  you  bat  an  eye — 
if  you  don't  want  a  hole  plugged  through  ye 
big  enough  for  a  cat  to  crawl  into  without 
bloodyin'  her  whiskers.' 

"The  fellow  who  was  officiating  as  Heutenant 
for  the   gentleman  with   the   artillery  was  a 


194  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

tough-looking  proposition  for  his  inches,  but 
such  a  httle  runt  that  even  the  moral  suasion 
of  the  45' s  did  not  blunt  the  edge  of  my  humiH- 
ation  when  he  proceeded  to  'go  through'  me. 

''But  the  ignominy  and  shame  of  my  embar- 
rassing position  had  not  yet  reached  the  climax. 
I  was  raging  inwardly  and  wishing  that  I  could 
have  a  fair  field  and  no  favor  with  either  or 
both  of  the  bandits — I  used  to  be  pretty  handy 
myself,  you  know — but  I  did  not  lose  my  self- 
control  during  the  dextrous  and  speedy  search 
of  my  person.  A  pair  of  walloping  big  guns 
is  a  great  inhibitor  of  the  warhke  spirit. 

*'I  had  not  collected  my  fee  in  the  gunshot 
case,  hence  the  process  of  'going  through'  me 
was  not  very  productive  of  spoils.  My  pockets 
were  as  empty  of  cash  as  those  of  a  lamb  after 
a  busy  day  on  'Change.  A  Water  bury  watch, 
about  two  dollars  in  small  change,  a  not  very 
elaborate  set  of  surgical  instruments,  a  jack- 
knife,  a  bunch  of  keys,  my  wife's  photograph, 
and  an  annual  pass  on  the  St.  Paul  road  consti- 
tuted my  available  assets. 

The  robber  w^as  simply  furious  when  he  took 
account  of  stock.  Dashing  the  stuff  upon  the 
floor  he  ripped  out: 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  195 

"  'D — n  you  for  a  no  account  cuss,  anyhow! 
I'll  just  give  you  one  for  luck.' 

"With  this  the  ruffian  suddenly  caught  me 
by  the  shoulders  and,  wheeling  me  to  the  right 
about,  kicked  me  full  upon  the  pride  center! 
What  little  weight  the  fellow  had  was  in  that 
kick  and  I  recollect  that  the  hurt  to  my  anatomy 
and  the  still  greater  injury  to  my  self-respect 
was  not  unmingled  with  surprise.  I  never 
before  knew  how  hard  such  a  little  chap  could 
kick.  It  was  like  a  blow  from  a  hydrauhc  ram. 
It  jan*ed  me  so  that  a  plate  with  several  false 
upper  teeth  was  dislodged  from  my  mouth,  and 
fell  upon  the  floor. 

'The  kick  the  bandit  had  given  me  was  alone 
sufficient  to  impel  me  to  do  murder — my  breed 
does  not  placidly  submit  to  blows — but  the 
betrayal  of  a  secret  which  I  had  guarded  care- 
fully, even  from  my  wife,  was  the  last  straw 
in  my  burden  of  humihation.  I  could  take  a 
bite  of  crow,  but  I  could  not  bolt  him,  beak, 
claws,  feathers  and  all.  So  enraged  was  I  that 
I  completely  forgot  the  man  behind  the  guns. 

*'In  the  rear  of  the  stove  was  a  shelf  upon 
which  stood  numerous  things  essential  to  even 
a  bachelor's  housekeeping.  Among  these  va- 
rious properties  a  brace  of  old  fashioned  flat 


196  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

irons  caught  my  eye.  I  rushed  to  the  shelf, 
grabbed  an  iron  and  hurled  it  at  my  enemy's 
head,  just  missing  him  by  a  hair's  breadth. 

"Whether  because  he  was  taken  by  surprise 
or  not,  I  do  not  know,  but  the  bandit  made  no 
attempt  to  draw  a  weapon.  He  stood  with 
mouth  agape,  stupidly  gazing  at  me  until, 
having  missed  my  aim  with  the  iron,  I  rushed  at 
him  hke  an  infuriated  bull;  he  then  aroused 
himself  to  the  emergency  and  chnched  for 
safety,  and  we  went  to  the  floor  together,  the 
highwayman  underneath.  As  I  went  down  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  station  agent  with  a  six 
shooter  in  his  hand,  peering  cautiously  out 
between  the  curtains  of  the  partition  behind 
which  he  had  been  sleeping,  apparently  seeking 
an  opportunity  for  a  pot  shot. 

''With  the  downfall  of  the  nearer  robber  the 
country  boys  regained  their  power  of  motion — 
and  alas!  forgot  those  awful  guns  and  rushed 
awkwardly  to  my  assistance. 

The  desperado  with  the  guns  came  into 
action  simultaneously  with  the  farmer  lads. 
There  were  two  shots,  so  close  together  that 
there  seemed  to  be  but  one  report!  The  two 
unfortunate  youths  fell  dead  across  us  two  who 
were  strugghng  upon  the  floor,  their  blood  spout- 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  197 

ing  over  me  in  hot  gushes.  They  fell  with 
their  full  weight  crushing  me,  so  inertly  that  I 
was  compelled  to  heave  them  off  with  my  shoul- 
ders and  elbows. 

"The  murder  of  those  poor  boys  brought  me 
to  my  senses,  and  then  came  an  acute  reali- 
zation of  the  imminence  of  my  own  danger — I 
well  knew  at  whom  the  next  shot  would  be 
fired.  With  the  realization  of  my  danger  my 
furious  anger  vanished;  I  regained  my  usual 
presence  of  mind  and  my  thinking  apparatus 
began  to  work  again. 

"Putting  in  practice  a  trick  well  known  on  the 
wrestling  mat,  I  threw  one  arm  around  the  neck 
of  my  foe,  choking  him  into  absolute  helpless- 
ness. With  the  other  arm  I  rolled  him  over 
like  a  trussed  Christmas  turkey,  so  that  his  body 
was  between  me  and  the  danger  of  a  salute  from 
the  45's.  As  I  turned  him  over  a  shot  rang  out. 
The  ball  narrowly  escaped  putting  an  end  to  the 
battle.  It  was  a  lucky  shot  for  me  in  more  ways 
than  one — it  not  only  missed  me,  but  struck  the 
stove,  ricocheted  and  smashed  the  hanging- 
lamp  with  which  the  rodm  was  dimly  lighted. 
There  was  now  no  light  save  from  the  open  door 
of  the  stove. 

"The  man  with   the  guns,   still  bent  upon 


198  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

assisting  his  friend  and  incidentally  extermi- 
nating me,  at  once  came  to  close  quarters. 
Standing  over  our  struggling  forms,  he  endeav- 
ored to  put  a  shot  where  it  would  do  his  cause 
the  most  good.  He  shot  twice,  but  fii'ed  wide, 
so  great  was  his  fear  of  hittine-  his  confederate. 

''Never  was  my  mind  or  muscle  more  active. 
I  thought  of  the  station  master  and  his  six 
shooter.  'My  God!  Will  he  never  fire?'  I 
exclaimed  mentally.  Meanwhile  I  twisted  my 
helpless  foe  about  hke  a  bundle  of  rags.  From 
side  to  side  I  rolled  him — always  with  a  view 
to  keeping  his  body  between  me  and  danger. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  bhnding  flash,  fairly  in 
my  face — and  then  came  obhvioni 

"How  long  I  lay  insensible  I  have  no  means  of 
knowing.  When  I  recovered  consciousness  I 
found  myself  lying  where  I  had  fallen  when  I 
went  to  the  floor  with  the  highwayman.  Beside 
me,  so  near  that  I  could  touch  them  with  my 
hand,  lay  the  dead  bodies  of  my  late  companions. 
I  could  just  discern  their  rigid  outhnes  in  the 
dim  light  from  the  stove. 

"As  my  senses  grew  more  acute  I  became 
aware  of  an  intense  burning  pain  in  the  left  side 
of  my  head,  and  felt  a  stream  of  warm  fluid 
which  I  at  once  recognized  as  blood,  trickling 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  199 

freely  down  my  face.  I  touched  the  painful 
spot  with  my  fingers,  and  knew  at  once  what 
had  happened — I  had  been  shot  through  the 
temple!  The  serious  nature  of  the  injury 
would  have  suggested  itself  to  the  merest  tyro. 
You  may  imagine  how  I  felt,  knowing  as  you  do 
the  extensive  experience  I  had  had  with  gun- 
shot wounds.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  one 
chance  in  a  hundred  that  the  ball  had  failed 
to  penetrate  my  brain.  Reahzing  this,  I  was 
only  too  well  aware  of  the  probably  desperate 
character  of  my  wound. 

"I  tried  to  rise,  and  after  several  painful 
efforts  succeeded  in  raising  myself  on  my  elbow, 
only  immediately  to  fall  helplessly  back  to  the 
floor  again.  As  I  lay  there  half  dazed,  and  fear- 
fully exhausted  from  the  shock  and  loss  of 
blood,  I  realized  in  a  hazy  sort  of  way  that  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  await  the  coming  of 
assistance. 

"I  recalled  in  a  confused  fashion  the  vision  of 
the  station  master  and  his  gun,  and  wondered 
what  had  become  of  him  and  why  he  had  not 
fired  at  the  bandits  during  the  fight.  That  he 
had  fled  from  the  scene  of  battle  did  not  occur 
to  me.  It  subsequently  transpired,  however, 
that  the  gallant  fellow  was  too  frightened  to 


200  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

fire  at  the  desperadoes  and  that,  after  several 
attempts  to  muster  up  courage  enough  to  pull 
the  trigger  on  them,  he  had  dropped  his  weapon 
and  fled  incontinently  through  a  rear  window. 

"I  finally  became  apathetic  and  indifferent 
as  to  my  fate — an  experience  by  no  means 
unusual  to  persons  who  have  suffered  from 
shock  and  great  loss  of  blood — and  lapsed  into 
almost  complete  unconsciousness. 

''How  long  I  lay  there  upon  the  floor  in  my 
half  dead  condition  is  a  matter  for  conjecture. 
I  was  finally  aroused  to  full  consciousness  by 
the  sound  of  voices  and  the  noise  of  manj^  feet 
at  the  door  of  the  station.  I  heard  some  one 
say: 

"  'I  don't  think  they  both  got  away,  boys. 
I  only  seen  one  feller  run.  Perhaps  one  o'  them 
men  they  was  holdin'  up  got  one  of  'em;  there 
was  a  hull  lot  o'  shootin'  goin'  on.' 

*'  'We'd  better  go  kind  o'  careful,  then,'  said 
another.  'If  there's  any  of  'em  in  there,  they 
may  have  just  one  kick  left  in  'em.' 

"In  my  confused  state  of  mind  the  significance 
of  what  I  heard  was  entirely  lost  upon  me.  I 
knew  only  that  help  was  at  hand  and  felt  that 
I  must  get  to  it. 

"Struggling  to  my  feet  by  a  mighty  effort  I 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  201 

tottered  to  the  door  through  which  the  feeble 
rays  of  a  lantern  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the  crowd 
were  gleaming.  Reaching  the  door,  I  stumbled 
over  the  threshold  and  fairly  fell  into  the  arms 
of  several  men  who  w^ere  apparently  too  startled 
to  follow  the  example  of  the  rest  of  the  crowd, 
which  had  scattered  the  instant  my  form 
appeared  in  the  doorway. 

''I  was  immediately  thrown  to  the  ground  and 
pinned  there  by  a  big  strapping  fellow,  w^ho  in 
his  excitement  very  nearly  finished  the  bandit's 
work  by  squeezing  what  little  breath  I  had 
remaining  completely  out  of  me. 

'<  'I've  got  him,  boys!'  cried  the  man,  who  I 
afterward  learned  was  the  station  master.  The 
crowd  recovered  its  nerve,  returned  to  action 
and  proceeded  to  inspect  the  capture,  apparently 
losing  all  interest  in  further  investigation  of 
conditions  inside  the  station. 

"In  the  crowd  were  several  women,  who, 
with  the  curiosity  and  enterprise  characteristic 
of  the  "weaker"  sex  in  mobs,  succeeded  in  push- 
ing themselves  in  front  of  the  men.  As  the 
man  wath  the  lantern  turned  the  Hght  full  upon 
me,  there  was  a  cry  from  one  of  the  w^omen. 

"  'That's  him,  that's  the  big  robber!     I  seen 


202  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

him  through  the  winder  of  our  house  when  they 
passed  by.     I'd  know  him  any  where !' 

"I  began  to  reahze  that  I  was  in  danger  and, 
fully  aroused,  endeavored  to  make  myself  heard. 
My  efforts  were  futile,  however,  and  I  merely 
received  a  choking  for  my  pains. 

"  'Let's  string  him  up,  boys;  it'll  save  the 
county  a  lot  of  expense !'  shouted  some  one. 

'''Hang  him!  Hang  him!'  chorused  the 
crowd. 

"  'Somebody  get  a  rope!'  cried  the  man  who 
was  kneeling  on  my  chest. 

"  'Take  him  to  a  telegraph  pole!'  cried  an- 
other. 

"I  was  half  dragged,  half  carried  to  the 
nearest  telegraph  pole  and  assisted  to  my  feet 
beneath  it.  A  rope  was  speedily  found  and 
tied  about  my  neck.  A  boy  was  ordered  to 
cHmb  the  pole  with  the  other  end  of  the  rope 
and  pass  it  over  the  arm  that  supports  the  wires. 

"My  situation  would  not  have  been  so  bad  if 
I  had  lost  the  power  of  thinking  and  with  it 
the  capacity  for  mental  suffering.  My  mind 
was  never  so  acute  as  at  that  moment  but, 
with  the  treatment  the  bandits  had  given  me 
and  the  mauling  and  choking  I  had  since 
received  at  the  hands  of  that  ignorant  mob,  I 


'a  rope  was  SPEF.DII.Y   K(i[-N-n   A\l>  TIKI)   Ali(^t'r   MY   .NKI'K' 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  203 

had  absolutely  lost  my  power  of  speech.  But 
think! — My  God!  man,  of  what  did  I  not  think, 
as  I  stood  there  in  the  shadow  of  death  at  the 
hands  of  a  lot  of  ignorant  farmers  and  railroad 
hands  who  were  about  to  offer  me  up  on  the 
altar  of  their  own  cowardice  and  brutality?  A 
mob  feels  but  it  does  not  reason.  I  had  seen 
enough  of  mobs  to  know  that  only  a  miracle 
could  save  me. 

''It  is  a  trite  observation  that  in  the  mind 
of  one  standing  on  the  margin  of  the  Valley  of 
Shadows,  as  I  was  at  that  awful  moment,  all 
the  events  of  his  past  life  pass  in  swift  review. 
So  rapidly  does  one  impression  follow  another, 
that  one's  previous  experiences  form  a  single 
composite  picture  like  that  of  the  biograph,  or 
the  pictures  that  dreams  paint  upon  the  brain. 
Such  was  my  own  experience  in  a  general  way, 
but  one  feature  of  the  mental  life  review  which 
my  terrible  experience  brought  me  was  most 
peculiar  and  horrifying. 

"For  several  years  before  I  graduated  in 
medicine,  I  occupied  a  position  in  the  coroner's 
office  in  the  city  of  C — .  In  the  performance 
of  my  official  duties  I  was  compelled  to  witness 
a  number  of  executions.  Among  others  was 
that  of  a  certain  wife  murderer.     The  sheriff, 


204  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

usually  expert  in  such  matters,  made  a  bungle 
of  this  man's  case.  The  noose  slipped  and 
he  slowly  strangled  to  death!  The  unhappy 
event  made  a  most  powerful  impression  upon 
my  youthful  mind,  but  I  httle  thought  of  the 
mental  rehearsal  of  the  awful  scene  that  was 
in  store  for  me. 

''Standing  out  in  bold  relief  from  the  rest  of 
the  picture  of  my  past  Ufe  that  was  displayed 
before  my  mental  vision  as  the  mob  completed 
its  preparations  for  hanging  me,  was  the  fright- 
ful scene  enacted  on  the  gallows  at  the  execution 
of  the  wife  murderer  in  the  jail  yard  of  C — . 

'The  most  pecuHar  feature  of  it  all  was  that 
it  was  I,  and  not  that  wife  murderer  whose 
death  throes  I  saw  in  my  mind's  eye.  Horrible 
beyond  conception  were  that  awful  choking, 
the  agonized  struggle  for  breath,  the  tumultuous 
spasms  of  the  diaphragm,  the  tmtchings  of 
the  muscles  and  the  frightful  roaring  in  the 
ears  which  I  experienced  as  the  murderer 
slowly  died  of  strangulation.  As  the  hmbs 
of  the  dying  man  in  the  mental  picture  spas- 
modically flexed  and  extended  themselves,  I 
felt  all  of  the  agonizing  pains  experienced  by 
sufferers  from  lock  jaw  or  strychnine  poisoning. 

"And  this  was  not  all.     My  chest  was  encir- 


A  GRBI  MEMENTO  205 

cled  as  with  a  band  of  iron.  Closer  and  closer 
drew  the  band  until  it  seemed  as  if  my  dia- 
phragm must  tear  clear  across  its  breadth  in 
the  fearful  effort  to  get  oxj^gen  into  my  lungs. 
I  saw  brilliant,  ghttering  points  and  shafts  of 
light  dancing  before  my  eyes.  I  seemed  to  be 
growing  deUrious  and  vainly  tried  to  speak,  the 
result  being  a  queer  sort  of  gibberish.  Worst  of 
all,  the  black  death  hood  seemed  suddenly  to 
become  transformed  into  a  mask  of  transparent 
glass,  through  which  I  could  see  my  own  pur- 
pling, swollen  features,  with  the  bulging,  black- 
ened lips  and  protruding  tongue  and  turgid, 
popping  eye  balls,  in  which  I  could  see  the  hor- 
ror of  impending  death  reflected.  Oh,  it  was 
horrible!  horrible! 

''As  the  struggling  body  in  the  picture  swayed 
back  and  forth  from  the  initial  tipping  move- 
ment imparted  by  the  falhng  of  the  drop,  my 
real  body  seemed  to  oscillate  back  and  forth 
Hke  a  pendulum.  Once,  w^hen  the  picture 
body  struck  with  cruel  impact  a  corner  post 
of  the  gallows  tree,  an  acute,  agonizing  pain 
shot  through  me  from  head  to  foot.  Then 
the  swaying  movement  ceased  and  the  body 
spun  round  and  round  hke  a  top  at  the  end  of 
the  fatal  cord,  so  rapidly  that  the  fuzzy  threads 


206  A  GRBI  ME:MENT0 

of  the  hemp  stood  out  hke  a  coating  of  fur  upon 
the  rope.  I  grew  dizzy  and  nauseated.  Diz- 
zier and  dizzier  I  grew;  louder  and  yet  louder 
grew  the  roaring  in  my  ears,  until  I  became 
unconscious  and — all  was  over. 

''Then  came  the  most  incomprehensible  thing 
of  all.  I  recovered  consciousness  and  saw 
crowding  around  the  dead  body  upon  the 
scaffold  the  lookers  on  at  the  execution,  and 
the  coroner's  jury,  with  myself  at  its  head. 
Standing  beside  the  corpse  was  Dr.  Cartwright, 
the  coroner's  physician.  Watch  in  hand,  with 
his  fingers  on  the  wrist  of  the  corpse  seeking 
for  signs  of  the  life  that  had  forever  departed, 
the  doctor  slowly  counted  the  minutes  required 
by  law. 

"And  then  I  saw  the  body  lowered  into  the 
coflfin  and  taken  away! 

''All  that  I  have  described  to  you  took  place 
very  rapidly.  I  was  not  conscious  of  any 
appreciable  interval  between  the  time  of  my 
conveyance  from  the  station  by  the  mob  and 
the  final  act  of  the  execution  which  my  memory 
had  painted  for  me. 

"While  the  drama  of  the  hanging  was  being 
played  in  my  mind,  the  preparations  for  a  more 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  207 

tangible  execution  under  the  auspices  of  Judge 
Lynch  were  going  on. 

'The  boy  with  the  rope  'shinned'  up  the 
telegraph  pole  like  a  young  monkey.  Arriving 
at  the  fii'st  cross  arm  of  the  pole,  he  passed  the 
rope  over  it  and  threw  the  loose  end  down  to  the 
expectant  crowd  of  bloodthirsty  savages  below. 

''When  the  free  end  of  the  rope  struck  the 
ground,  the  entire  crowd,  with  the  exception 
of  two  or  three  men  who  were  holding  me, 
rushed  for  it,  and  fought  for  holds  upon  it. 
Each  was  more  than  willing  to  do  his  share  in 
the  killing  of  their  helpless  victim. 

"The  falling  of  the  rope's  end  and  the  mad 
rush  of  the  crowd  to  secure  it  broke  the  spell 
in  which  I  was  bound  and  I  regained  my  voice 
sufficiently  to  indistinctly  mumble  my  name. 
A  few  seconds  more  and  my  death  by  strangu- 
lation would  have  been  more  than  a  mental 
picture — it  would  have  been  a  grim  reahty! 
One  of  my  guards  had  sufficient  sense — or 
curiosity,  I  don't  know  which,  nor  do  I  care  so 
long  as  it  served  me  well — to  call  a  halt  in  the 
ceremonies. 

"  'Hold  on,  boys!  Wait  a  minute — let's  hear 
what  this  feller's  tryin'  to  say.  We've  got 
plenty  of  time  to  hear  his  spiel.' 


208  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

"Most  of  the  crowd  came  reluctantly  back 
to  listen.  The  more  ravenously  bloodthirsty 
of  the  mob  still  held  on  to  the  rope  and  waited 
impatiently  for  the  continuation  of  the  pleasure 
party.  As  the  brutes  crowded  around  me  I 
managed  to  introduce  myself  a  Httle  more 
coherently. 

''  'Go  on,  what  yer  givin'  us?'  said  the 
man  who  had  halted  the  execution;  'He  says 
he's  a  doctor,  boys'. 

"  'Here,  let's  have  a  look  at  that  feller,'  cried 
a  voice  from  somewhere  in  the  crowd.  A  man 
pressed  forward  and  confronted  me. 

"  'Gimme  that  lantern.' 

"The  lantern  was  handed  to  him,  and  holding 
it  close  to  my  face  he  looked  at  me  earnestly 
for  a  moment.  I  in  turn,  as  you  may  surmise, 
stared  quite  as  hard  at  him.  We  recognized 
each  other  simultaneously! 
'  "  'Dan  Williams,'  I  stammered  weakty,  recog- 
nizing an  old  patient  of  mine,  a  raih^oad  hand 
whose  leg  I  had  saved  after  it  had  been  con- 
demned to  amputation. 

'Good  God !  Doc.  Fairweather,  is  that  you?' 

'I  was  saved!  I  shall  always  beheve  that 
the  majority  of  the  mob  felt  aggrieved  at  both 
Dan  and  myself  by  the  mutual  recognition  that 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  209 

had  saved  my  life  by  such  a  narrow  margin. 
The  rope  was  dropped,  however,  albeit  grudg- 
ingly, and  my  neck  released  from  its  gruesome 
embrace. 

''Dan  impressed  several  of  his  friends  into 
service  and  I  was  taken  to  the  nearest  house 
and  temporarily  cared  for  as  well  as  possible 
under  my  own  rather  wabbly  and  uncertain 
direction,  whilst  I  told  my  story  as  best  I  could 
in  my  pitiful  condition. 

''It  was  several  days  before  I  could  be  moved, 
a  local  physician  meanwhile  ministering  to  me 
with  more  devotion  than  surgical  skill.  You 
may  imagine  how  happy  I  was  to  learn  that  my 
head  was  so  hard  that  it  had  not  been  feazed  by 
a  45  calibre  conical  ball.  The  bullet  had  entered 
my  head  at  the  left  temple,  glancing  around 
the  skull,  plowing  a  huge  furrow  in  the  scalp  and 
cutting  a  groove  in  the  outer  table  of  the  bone 
along  which  it  left  a  trail  of  lead  clear  around 
to  the  occiput,  whence  it  had  been  deflected. 
It  was  afterward  found  buried  in  the  wall  of 
the  station  and  sent  to  me  as  a  souvenir. 

"After  my  return  home  I  was  seriously  iU 
for  several  weeks.  I  finally,  however,  returned 
to  my  practice,  a  little  the  worse  for  wear,  but 
grateful  for  my  hard-headedness.     It  was  some 


210  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

time  before  my  brain  worked  with  its  usual 
alertness,  but  after  a  few  months  I  had  only  the 
scar  to  remind  me  of  a  most  awful  experience. 

''And  now  for  the  story  of  the  skull: 

"A  strong  posse  was  organized  for  the  pursuit 
of  the  murderers  and  they  were  soon  overtaken, 
after  a  running  fight  some  miles  north  of  the 
scene  of  the  awful  tragedy  in  which  I  had 
enacted  such  an  important  role. 

"The  bandits  had  entrenched  themselves  in 
a  deserted  farm  house,  from  which  they  made 
a  desperate  fight  against  their  pursuers.  Sev- 
eral of  the  attacking  party  were  killed  or 
wounded.  During  a  lull  in  the  fighting  the 
smaller  of  the  two  desperados  deserted  his  com- 
rade, escaped  from  the  house,  and  ran  for  the 
timber.  A  clever  chap  who  had  secreted  him- 
self in  the  woods  at  the  rear  of  the  house  in 
anticipation  of  some  such  move  on  the  part 
of  the  murderers,  received  him  with  a  huge 
charge  of  buckshot  from  both  barrels  of  a  shot 
gun  fired  at  close  range,  killing  him  instantly. 

"I  have  a  picture  of  the  result  of  the  shot, 
taken  as  the  dead  outlaw  lay  in  his  coffin. 
In  my  leisure  moments  I  comfort  myself  by 
gazing  upon  it.    Through  the  agency  of  that 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  211 

photograph  the  humihation  of  the  kick  the 
fellow  administered  to  me  has  faded  into  the 
faintest  of  memories.  Indeed,  when  I  do 
chance  to  recall  that  particular  incident  of 
the  tragedy  in  which  I  played  so  prominent 
a  part,  it  is  with  amusement  rather  than  with 
chagrin. 

''The  principal  of  the  two  outlaws  finally 
exhausted  his  ammunition.  The  house  was 
rushed,  and  after  a  desperate  hand  to  hand 
battle,  in  which,  as  the  sheriff  afterwards  told 
me,  the  desperado  'made  plenty  good,  and  laid 
out'  several  of  the  attacking  party,  he  was 
overpowered  and  manacled. 

"The  captured  bandit  proved  to  be  Jack 
McDougall — nom  de  guerre,  'Reddy  McDug' — 
a  many  times  murderer,  bank  robber  and  all 
round  'bad  man,'  upon  whose  head  a  price 
had  rested  for  many  months. 

"McDougall  was  taken  to  K — ,  the  county 
seat,  and  placed  in  jail  under  a  strong  guard. 
He  was  speedily  tried,  convicted  and  sentenced 
to  be  hanged. 

"During  the  trial,  the  desperado  and  I  be- 
came very  well  acquainted,  and  before  the  date 
set  for  the  execution  I  am  free  to  say  that  I 
had  become  sufficiently  interested  in  him  to 


212  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

rather  regret  the  impending  cessation  of  our 
relations.  Indeed,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess 
that  I  finally  conceived  a  warm  regard  for  the 
poor  devil.  Call  it  a  whim  if  you  hke,  the 
fact  remains  that  I  really  did  hke  him. 

''Whatever  else  he  may  have  been,  Reddy 
was  not  a  coward,  and  if  there  is  any  one 
thing  I  admire  more  than  another  in  a  man 
it  is  gameness.  McDougall  was  a  moral  im- 
becile— he  considered  that  he  had  followed  a 
vocation,  and  a  rather  decent  one,  but  he 
knew  the  price  of  the  game  and  was  wiUing 
to  pay  it  if  needs  must.  He  said  to  me  at  one 
of   my   numerous   visits: 

"  'You  see,  Doc,  it  all  depends  on  how  you're 
born,  and  how  the  cards  is  stacked.  No  mat- 
ter what  kind  of  a  game  you  play,  an'  no  mat- 
ter how  you  play  it,  settlin'  time  is  bound  to 
come  sooner  or  later.  I'd  hke  to  sit  in  the 
hold  up  game  a  httle  longer,  'cause  I'm  still 
able-bodied,  but  I  dunno  as  it  makes  a  h — 11  of 
a  lot  of  difference  when  a  feller's  hand  is  call- 
ed. Anyhow,  what's  the  use  o'  kickin'?  Mine's 
been  called  all  right,  all  right,  and  there  you 
are.' 

"I  last  saw  McDougall  the  day  before  his 
execution.     He  was   still  game   as   a  pebble. 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  213 

His  principal  concern  was  to  have  me  witness 
his  end.     Said   he: 

"  'Now,  Doc,  you  an'  me  has  got  to  be 
pretty  good  pals,  even  if  I  did  plug  you 
that  time  try  in'  to  help  my  pardner — which 
was  part  of  the  game  anyway.  You're  all 
the  friend  I've  got,  and  I'd  Hke  to  have  you 
present  at  the  swingin'  party.  Just  come 
and  watch  me  cash  in,  an'  see  how  nice  an' 
gentlemanly  your  friend  Reddy  '11  take  his 
medicine.  There'll  be  nary  a  kick  out  o'  me 
before  the  bottom  drops  out  of  things,  an' 
nary  a  kick  afterward,  if  Mr.  Sheriff's  onto  his 
job.' 

"I  saw  that  McDougall  was  in  earnest,  and 
assured  him  as  I  bade  him  good-bye  that  I 
would  be  on  hand  for  the  ceremony.  But, 
all  the  same,  I  didn't  mean  a  word  of  it.  I  had 
had  about  aU  the  experience  with  hangings, 
both  as  witness  and  prospective  principal, 
that  was  necessary  to  satisfy  a  man  of  my 
modest  desires.  Why,  I  had  myself  actually 
been  mentally  hanged  and  nearly  physically 
hanged  simultaneously.  Besides,  as  I  have 
already  said,  I  Hked  McDougall. 

'The  execution  came  off  according  to  sched- 
ule, and  I  was  greatly  consoled  by  the  report 


214  A  GRIM  MEMENTO 

that  the  sheriff,  was,  as  McDougall  expressed 
it,  decidedly  'on  to  his  job.'  Indeed,  I  was 
told  that  the  hanging  was  as  smooth  a  piece 
of  work  as  had  ever  occurred  in  Minnesota. 
So  smooth  was  it,  and  so  agreeable  to  the  senti- 
ments of  the  population  of  that  section  of 
the  State,  that  the  re-election  of  Sheriff  Jackson 
was  a  foregone  conclusion.  All  of  which  shows 
that  the  artist  in  his  particular  line  is  not  with- 
out appreciation,  and  that  the  executioner, 
unhke  the  prophet,  getteth  honor  in  his  own 
country. 

"There  were  no  friends  to  claim  the  body 
of  the  dead  outlaw,  and  it  finally  found  its 
way  to  the  M—  Medical  College.  The  demon- 
strator of  anatomy,  who  chanced  to  be  a  warm 
friend  of  mine,  knew  the  circumstances  under 
which  I  had  become  acquainted  with  the  late 
Mr.  McDougall,  and  reasoning  that  I  would 
be  very  glad  to  receive  a  souvenir  commemo- 
rative of  the  strenuous  introduction  to  that 
distinguished  gentleman  which  I  had  received, 
dissected  the  head  with  especial  care,  and  af- 
ter thorough  preparation  and  skillful  bleach- 
ing sent  the  gruesome  object  to  me  with  his 
compHments.  Since  the  reception  of  the  skull 
my  lamented  friend  in  material  bone  and  ethe- 


A  GRIM  MEMENTO  215 

real  spirit  has  been  the  presiding  genius  of 
my  den — a  friend  in  whom  I  have  full  confi- 
dence, because  I  can  trust  him,  and  an  enemy 
whom  I  no  longer  dread,  because  I  have  him 
where  all  of  our  enemies  should  be  placed — 
in  a  collection  of  curios.  Rather  a  nice  skull, 
isn't  it?" 


A  WISE  CHILD 


I  was  enjoying  my  after  dinner  cigar,  and 
thinking,  with  some  amusement,  of  a  remark 
my  little  daughter  had  made.  During  the 
afternoon  she  had  been  taken  by  a  party  of  my 
friends  to  a  museum — a  great  treat  for  her,  as 
she  is  of  an  inquiring  turn  of  mind.  Among 
the  curiosities  and  freaks  on  exhibition,  was 
a  poor  fellow  who  was  afflicted  with  some 
nervous  afTection  that  impelled  him  to  keep 
constantly  in  motion.  The  child  was  especially 
impressed  with  the  fact  that  the  man  was 
unable  to  sit  down.  The  grown-up  folks  of 
the  party  were  greatly  puzzled  by  the  curious 
phenomenon — not  so  my  hopeful.  Looking 
at  him  carefully  and  with  an  expression  of  most 
profound  pity  for  a  few  moments,  she  exclaimed, 
'Toor  man!  What  an  awful  lot  of  spankings 
he  must  have  had  when  he  was  a  little  boy!" 

*'Well,"  I  thought,  '^children  are  keen  observ- 
ers after  all.  It  might  be  interesting  to  read 
the  thoughts  of  some  of  them.  Now,  there's 
that   Smith   baby   for   example — ^what  a  wise 

216 


A   WISE  CHILD 


A  WISE  CHILD  217 

expression  it  has,  to  be  sure !  Really,  that  child 
ought  to  be  called  Solomon.  I  would  suggest 
the  name  to  pater  familias,  only  he  might  get 
frightened  at  the  mere  suggestion  of  such 
wisdom  on  the  part  of  his  offspring.'' 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Smith  child  is  the 
most  remarkable  specimen  of  a  young  one  I 
have  ever  seen.  He  is  now  some  three  years  of 
age,  yet  has  never  made  the  slightest  attempt  to 
talk.  As  for  walking,  I  question  whether  the 
child  will  ever  be  able  to  use  his  limbs  very 
successfully.  They  are  malformed  and  very 
imperfectly  developed.  But  the  child's  head 
has  gone  to  the  other  extreme;  while  by  no 
means  symmetrical  in  outline,  it  is  preter- 
naturallj"  large,  with  bulging  frontal  eminences 
and  immense  parietal  protuberances.  The  eyes 
are  brilliant,  deep  set,  and  reflect  an  expression 
of  wise  gra\dty  that  is  positively  eerie.  The 
brow  is  wrinkled  in  strongly  marked  furrows 
and  the  general  aspect  of  the  face  is  somewhat 
shrivelled  and  prematurely  old.  Around  the 
angles  of  the  mouth  are  converging,  plainly 
accentuated  lines  that  give  the  face  an  expres- 
sion of  sternness.  There  is  no  color  in  the  skin 
save  about  the  eyelids,  w^hich  are  habitually 
red  and  tumefied.     The  dead,  clayey  whiteness 


218  A  WISE  CHILD 

of  the  child's  complexion  is  occasionally  relieved 
by  dark,  blotchy  eruptions,  that  make  the 
unhealthy  pallor  of  the  skin  still  more  noticeable. 

The  most  striking  peculiarity  of  the  Smith 
baby  is  its  prematurely  aged  look,  suggesting 
the  grotesque  combination  of  the  face  of  a  sickly 
old  man  with  the  body  of  a  child.  At  first 
sight,  the  effect  is  somewhat  startling. 

And  yet,  despite  its  physical  defects,  the  child 
grows  on.  Knowing  how  utterly  defenseless 
the  poor  little  thing  was  against  the  circum- 
stances which  made  it  a  caricature  of  healthy 
babyhood,  and  realizing  its  abject  helplessness 
in  the  battle  of  life,  I  sincerely  pity  it. 

Is  it  not  strange  that  mothers  lavish  so  much 
affection  upon  such  children  as  the  Smith  baby? 
No  matter  how  many  beautiful  children  she 
may  have,  the  heart  of  the  mother  goes  out  to 
the  least  favored  of  her  offspring  in  a  wealth  of 
love  that  is  the  only  excuse  the  unfortunate 
child  has  for  living.  Mothers  care  naught  for 
the  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest — not  they. 
Should  such  a  child  die,  the  poor  mother  mourns 
it  as  the  one  ewe  lamb  of  her  little  flock. 

With  the  father  it  is  different,  somehow — 
perhaps  not  in  all  cases,  but  I  know  it  is  different 
with  the  father  in  this  instance. 


A  WISE  CHILD  219 

Smith  is  a  queer  sort  of  fellow — rather  reticent 
in  manner  it  seems  to  me.  However,  he  is  a 
new  patron  of  mine  and  perhaps  I  do  not  c^uite 
understand  him.  I  was  first  called  in  to  see 
the  baby,  and  haven't  had  very  much  oppor- 
tunity to  converse  with  the  father.  At  the 
present  rate  of  progress,  I  am  not  likely  to  get 
much  better  acquainted,  for,  come  to  think  of 
it,  he  seems  somewhat  inclined  to  avoid  me. 

But  Smith's  friends  say  that  he  is  a  thoroughly 
good  fellow ;  indeed,  that  he  is  ''one  of  the  boys." 

Once  in  a  while.  Smith  seems  to  be  more  than 
ordinarily  anxious  about  the  baby — apparently 
through  pride  rather  than  affection,  for  the 
little  one  really  seems  to  be  the  bane  of  his 
existence.  He  did  unbend  once,  enough  to  ask 
me  if  there  wasn't  some  way  to  cure  the  child's 
snuffles  and  keep  ''those  d — d  blotches"  off  its 
face,  but  I  am  sure  he  was  thinking  more  of  the 
comments  of  his  neighbors  than  of  the  child's 
comfort. 

I  don't  believe  that  Smith  cares  a  straw  about 
his  young  one's  digestion,  yet  he  swore  Hke  a 
pirate  when  he  saw  the  irregular  manner  in 
which  its  second  teeth  were  coming  in.  Not 
that  I  blame  him  much  for  swearing,  for  those 
teeth  do  look  more  like  those  of  a  saw  than  such 


220  A  WISE  CHILD 

as  a  baby  of  good  breeding  is  expected  to 
develop.  Still,  the  child  is  not  to  blame  for  his 
bad  teeth.  Smith  knows  that,  if  he  knows 
anything. 

I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  say  it,  but  I  honestly 
beUeve  that  Smith  would  far  rather  his  child 
would  die  than  live.  The  poor  httle  thing  had 
a  bad  attack  of  cholera  infantum  a  while  ago, 
and  narrowly  missed  going  to  the  land  where 
babies'  stomachs  are  at  rest  and  pimples  are 
unknown.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  say,  but 
I  really  suspect  that  Smith  was — well,  not 
exactly  pleased  with  the  results  of  my  treat- 
ment. He  made  a  remark  the  other  day  that 
was  suggestive,  to  say  the  least.  He  said  there 
were  too  many  new-fangled  ideas  in  the  treat- 
ment of  children's  diseases  to  suit  him.  ''Tox- 
ins," said  he,  "were  invented,  I  suppose,  to 
cover  up  medical  ignorance." 

I  did  not  reply,  for,  as  I  have  already  re- 
marked, Smith  and  I  have  not  become  very 
friendly  as  yet. 

But  the  Smith  baby  is  a  very  interesting 
study,  and  I  can  tolerate  its  father's  pecuHar 
ways  for  the  child's  sake,  and  for  the  interest 
the  case  affords  me. 


A  WISE  CHILD  221 

I  lolled  back  in  my  favorite  chair  puffing  the 
fragrant  smoke  in  fantastic  rings,  carelessly 
aimed  at  the  chandelier  overhead,  and  revolving 
the  case  of  the  Smith  baby  in  my  mind.  I  do 
not  know  how  long  I  sat  there  musing,  but  I 
finally  fell  into  that  half  dreamy  state  which, 
with  me,  is  a  positive  sign  of  an  impending  nap. 
Even  my  cigar  was  becoming  sleepy  and  had 
begun  to  smolder.  Being  in  no  mood  to  tolerate 
interruption,  I  fear  it  was  with  some  irritation 
that  I  shouted,  in  response  to  a  timid  rap  at  the 
door: 

''Come  in!" 

The  door  opened,  and  in  walked — Smith's 
baby! 

To  say  that  I  was  astonished  would  be  quite 
conventional,  but  measurably  untrue,  for  —  I 
was  paralyzed.  I  think  my  visitor  must  have 
noticed  the  effect  his  unexpected  entrance  had 
upon  me,  for,  after  a  deferential  bow  and  a  po- 
lite ''Good  evening,"  he  calmly  awaited  my 
pleasure.  There  was  a  quizzical  expression 
in  his  eyes,  and  a  pitying  smile  animated  his 
curiously  wrinkled  face  as  I  finally  stammered : 

"W — ^why,  g — good  evening,  sir.  This  is 
quite — quite,  ah — ^unexpected,  you  know." 

"And  also  unconventional,  I  presume,"  said 


222  A  WISE  CHILD 

my  caller.  "It  is  not  en  regie,  I  believe,  for 
people  who  are  helpless  to  call  upon  the  doctor. 
He  is  supposed  to  do  all  the  calhng  himself. 
Patients  who  have  sound  legs  and  strength 
enough  to  walk  are  the  only  sort  who  are 
expected  to  visit  their  medical  adviser.  We  ^^dll 
not  consider  those  'has  beens/  who  are  some- 
times so  grateful  to  the  doctor  for  helping  them 
out  of  the  world  that  they  call  upon  him  after- 
ward o'  nights/'  and  the  baby  smiled  sarcasti- 
cally. 

I  do  not  beheve  in  ghosts,  yet  I  must  confess 
that  I  blushed  hotly  at  the  impUed  unfair  criti- 
cism of  my  noble  profession. 

My  young  friend  noticed  my  confusion  and 
said: 

"Pardon  me,  I  did  not  mean  to  be  personal. 
There  are  doctors  and  doctors  you  know — 
and  also  spooks  and  things." 

"Great  Hippocrates!"  I  exclaimed,  springing 
to  my  feet  in  sudden,  amazed  recollection.  "I 
thought  you  could  neither  walk  nor  talk,  and 
you  have  not  only  come  to  see  me  but  are  talking 
as  fluently  as  any  one  could." 

"Oh,  well,"  rephed  my  visitor,  "things  are 
not  always  what  they  seem — even  to  doctors. 
I  have  not  walked  much  as  yet,  it  is  true,  but 


A  WISE  CHILD  223 

I  thought  it  best  not  to  do  so.  My  limbs  have 
never  looked  very  promising,  and  consequently 
nothing  has  ever  been  expected  of  them.  It 
is  much  easier  to  ride  or  be  carried  about  than 
to  walk — even  with  good  legs — so  I  let  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  people  about  me  have  full  sway. 

"As  for  speaking,  pray  tell  me  what  induce- 
ment there  is  to  conversation  in  my  case.  I 
am  not  fond  of  hearing  myself  talk — not  at  all, 
and  there's  no  use  talking  to  the  people  around 
me.  They  could  not  understand  me  and  there 
are  no  subjects  of  mutual  interest.  Besides, 
if  I  should  display  my  hnguistic  skill,  my  folks 
would  be  a  little  shy  of  me.  They  are  very 
confidential,  you  know,  and  on  account  of  my 
apparent  inabihty  to  repeat  what  I  hear,  I  get 
in  on  many  a  nice  bit  of  grown-up  gossip." 

"Well,"  I  said,  ''there  does  seem  to  be  some 
advantage  in  conceahng  your  power  of  speech, 
but  I  don't  quite  comprehend  your  statement 
that  the  people  about  you  would  not  understand 
you.  Your  language  certainly  seems  clear 
enough  for  ordinary  understanding." 

"Oh,  well,  you  see  I  have  thus  far  been  talking 
in  a  quite  conmionplace  fashion.  We  have 
exchanged  hardly  more  than  mere  conversa- 
tional greetings.    With  most  persons  the  con- 


224  A  WISE  CHILD 

versation  would  of  necessity  begin  and  end  with 
mere  perfunctory  remarks,  and  that  wouldn't 
be  worth  while.  You,  however,  being  a  doctor, 
and  consequently  a  man  of  learning,  are  capable 
of  appreciating  me  at  my  true  value.  I  have 
long  experienced  a  desire  to  converse  with  you, 
and  to-night  I  resolved  to  call  upon  you  here 
at  your  own  home,  where  we  can  have  a  little 
chat  without  danger  of  interruption." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  smihng  at  his  assurance,  "but 
how  on  earth  have  you  acquired  the  information 
necessary  to  carry  on  an  intelligent  conversation 
with  a  scientific  physician?  You  are  only  about 
three  years  of  age,  and  if  you  are  as  intellectual 
as  you  claim  to  be,  your  precocity  is  certainly 
marvelous." 

My  httle  friend  smiled  blandly,  and  repUed: 
"That  word,  precocity,  is  a  very  offensive  one, 
but  I  excuse  you  for  using  it,  because  it  is 
evident  that  you  do  not  know  the  true  expla- 
nation of  the  advanced  intellect  of  the  so-called 
precocious  child.  Do  you  know  anything  of 
Buddhism,  doctor?" 

"Well,  yes,  something." 

"Then  you  will  understand  me  when  I  say 
that  'precocity'  is  merely  the  development  in 
the  child  of  a  portion  of  the  wisdom  acquired 


A  WISE  CHILD  225 

during  its  previous  terrestrial  existences.  As 
you  are  aware,  the  modern  school  of  theosophists 
has  appropriated  this  theory  of  the  Buddhists." 

''Very  true,"  I  repKed,  with  some  amusement, 
"but  that  does  not  add  to  the  vahdity  of  the 
theory." 

"It  is  evident  that  you  are  not  a  theosophist, 
doctor.  I  assure  you,  however,  that  the  Bud- 
dhists are  right.  I  know  they  are  right,  for 
I  have  myself  been  on  earth  twice  before.  You 
have  doubtless  often  noted  that  I  am  not  as 
other  children." 

"True,  you  have  always  seemed  much  older 
than  j^our  years,"  I  replied. 

"Then  you  are  prepared  to  believe  me  when 
I  assert  that  what  you  have  regarded  as  an 
appearance  of  premature  age,  is  merely  a 
reflection  of  my  past  hves  showing  through  the 
childlike  envelopment  of  the  present." 

"Ah!"  I  exclaimed,  "there  is  certainly  food 
for  reflection  in  what  you  say.  I  confess,  how- 
ever, that  the  idea  had  never  suggested  itself 
to  me.     I  shall  certainly  make  a  note  of  it." 

My  visitor  seemed  gratified  at  ha^dng  im- 
parted such  interesting  and  valuable  informa- 
tion. 


226  A  WISE  CHILD 

"And  now,  doctor,  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
consider  me  egotistic  if  I  claim  to  be,  what  my 
appearance   would    indicate — a  'wise    child'." 

*'0h,  ho!  Are  you  the  original  'wise  child' 
who  knew  his  own  father?"  I  asked,  jocularly. 

My  young  friend  seemed  to  take  me  seriously, 
and  repUed,  *Tshaw!  doctor;  I  am  surprised 
that  you  even  remember  that  absurd  theory. 
There's  nothing  in  it,  and  besides,  it's  a  very 
crude  test  of  intellectuaUty.  Why  shouldn't 
any  child  who  is  not  an  idiot,  know  its  own 
father?  Why,  I  was  introduced  to  mine  imme- 
diately on  my  arrival  in  your  inhospitable  clime. 
I  remember  the  introduction  more  particularly, 
because,  not  knowing  what  sort  of  people  I  was 
to  fall  in  with,  I  was  quite  afraid  I  might  be 
asked  to  step  over  and  sit  with  the  girls — a  fate 
too  horrible  to  think  of! 

"Now,  doctor,  I  suppose  you  are  wondering 
what  I  am  going  to  find  to  talk  about.  I  have 
already  informed  you  that  platitudes  and 
conventional  commonplaces  are  very  fatiguing 
to  me.  I  assure  you,  however,  that  it  is  not 
my  intention  to  go  to  the  other  extreme  and 
talk  abstract  science." 

"Great  Scott!"  I  exclaimed,  "Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  have  had  a  scientific  training?" 


A  WISE  CHILD  227 

''Oh,  my,  yes!"  replied  young  Smith,  drawing 
himself  up — rather  proudly  it  seemed  to  me. 
*'But,"  he  continued,  ''I  am  not  going  to  enter 
into  the  scientific  heavies.  I  shall  deal  largely 
in  generalities,  and  such  science  as  may  appear 
in  my  remarks  will  be  of  a  rather  superficial 
sort. 

''Since  knowing  you,  doctor,  I  have  become 
quite  reconciled  to  the  death  of  your  prede- 
cessor in  our  family — dear  old  Dr.  Whittemore. 
He  was  a  kind,  considerate  old  man,  and  as 
tender-hearted  as  a  woman,  despite  his  rough 
ways.  But  I  didn't  Hke  him  at  first.  You 
see  I  didn't  understand  him  very  well.  He 
had  such  a  habit  of  swearing  to  himself  when- 
ever he  looked  at  these  crooked  legs  of  mine. 
But  he  was  my  friend,  nevertheless,  and  several 
times  when  old  Smith  was — " 

"I  beg  pardon,"  I  said,  "but  did  you  say, 
old  Smith?" 

"AVhy,  yes,"  replied  my  vistor,  raising  his 
eyebrows  as  though  surprised  at  the  inter- 
ruption, "old  Smith — the  governor,  you  know." 

"Oh,  I  see,  you  mean  your  father,"  I  replied. 

"Of  course  I  meant  my  father!"  exclaimed 
the  youngster  impatiently. 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,  continued  the  child, 


228  A  WISE  CHILD 

several  times  when  old  Smith  was  especially 
cross  with  me  and  the  doctor  happened  to  be 
present,  the  old  fellow  took  my  part  and  told 
the  governor  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself. 

''Smith  once  pointed  at  me  and  said,  'Great 
God!  man,  look  at  that  head  and  those  legs! 
How  can  you  blame  me  for  being  disgusted  be- 
cause the  little  beast  lived?' 

"  'Now,  see  here,  Smith,'  exclaimed  the 
doctor,  'that  young-one,  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
is  in  no  wise  responsible  for  the  contour  of  his 
legs  or  the  bulginess  of  his  cranium.  You  and 
I  have  a  theory  regarding  the  cause  of  the  baby's 
pecuHarities,  which  lays  the  responsibility  at 
the  door  of  one — ' 

"  'Sh! — '  said  pa,  'there  is  no  necessity  of  your 
being  personal,  and  besides,  my  mother-in-law 
is  in  the  next  room,  and  it  is  really  foohsh  to 
call  her  in  counsel.  She  is  troublesome  enough 
now.     She  looks  suspiciously  wise  at  times.' 

"  'Well,  then,'  said  the  doctor,  'don't  talk  so 
like  a  d — d  fool !' 

"  'Oh,  there's  no  use  roasting  me,  doctor,  I 
am  patient  enough  under  the  circumstances.  I 
sometimes  think  that  if  the  medical  profession 
did  its  full  duty,  such  children  would  not — ' 

"  'Would  not  Uve  to  a  ripe  old  age,  eh.  Smith?* 


A  WISE  CHILD  229 

interrupted  the  doctor,  angrily.  'Well,  sir,  the 
profession  of  medicine  is  sometimes  compelled 
to  save  people  from  the  consequences  of  their 
crimes — it  does  not,  however,  feel  in  duty  bound 
to  commit  crimes  for  them.  I  trust  the  ethical 
distinction  between  the  duty  of  the  profession 
and  the  dirty  work  some  persons  would  have  it 
do  for  them,  is  clear  to  your  somewhat  biased 
intellect,  my  good  sir !' 

"My !  but  old  Smith  was  mad — madder  than  a 
hornet!  But  the  doctor  seemed  to  have  the 
better  of  the  argument,  and  the  governor  soon 
cleared  out,  grumbling  to  himself  and  swearing 
at  the  cat  that  got  in  his  way  and  had  his  tail 
stepped  on." 

'The  old  doctor  certainly  was  your  friend,  and 
I  am  not  very  favorably  impressed  by  your  de- 
scription of  your  father.  I  might  say  in  passing, 
however,  that  your  lack  of  filial  respect  is  a  by 
no  means  commendable  trait  in  your  character. 
No  matter  what  his  peculiarities  may  be,  you 
must  remember  that  Smith  is  your  father  and  as 
such  demands  respect.  Have  you  forgotten 
what  the  Bible  says,  'Honor  thy  father  and  thy 
mother?'  " 

M}^  young  friend  looked  extremely  disgusted, 
and  replied : 


220  A  WISE  CHILD 

"Dear  me,  doctor! — can't  you  get  along  with- 
out quoting  such  old,  wormy,  out-of-date  author- 
ities as  the  Bible?  That  advice  was  all  well 
enough  in  its  day,  but  honoring  one's  parents  in 
the  collective  sense  is  played  out  in  these  modern 
times.  Mothers  are  just  as  much  deserving  of 
honor  as  ever — and  that's  a  great  deal,  but  fath- 
ers— ^humph  I  The  fellow  who  wrote  that  par- 
ticular portion  of  the  scriptures  didn't  know 
Smith,  you  can  just  bet  your  bottom  dollar  on 
that.  If  I  was  as  big  a  fool  as  he  thinks  I  am,  I 
might  honor  and  respect  him,  but  I  know  a 
thing  or  two. 

''Honor  Smith?  Ye  gods !  Look  at  the  protu- 
berances of  my  cranium !  Gaze  upon  these  mis- 
shapen legs  of  mine !  You  told  my  mother  I  had 
'rickets,'  didn't  you?" 

"Ye — yes,  I  believe  I  did." 

"Well,  I  don't  blame  you  for  your  ignorance, 
doctor.  You  have  not  been  in  practice  long 
enough  to  lose  faith  in  human  nature.  Now, 
old  Dr.  Whittemore  knew  better,  and  so  does 
Smith." 

"But,  my  dear  boy"  I  interposed,  "I  think  I 
know  rachitis  when  I  see  it." 

"So,  rachitis  is  the  scientific  appellation,  eh? 
Well,  in  the  language  of  the  street,  'rachitis  noth- 


A  WISE  CHILD  231 

ing  !^  Can't  you  see  through  a  millstone  with  a 
hole  in  it?  Doctor,  my  so-called  rickets  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than — " 

''Hush!  for  the  Lord's  sake,  hush!"  I  cried, 
putting  my  hand  over  young  Smith's  mouth,  as 
a  horrible  suspicion  suddenly  flashed  upon  me. 
"Be  careful,  my  young  friend,  even  the  walls  of 
a  doctor's  study  may  have  ears.  Can  it  be  pos- 
sible that  I  have  been  mistaken  and  that — " 

"Precisely  so,  sir,"  interrupted  my  visitor  sar- 
castically. "You  are  really  growing  quite  in- 
telligent. If  you  keep  on,  doctor,  you  will  be 
as  good  an  intuitive  diagnostician  as  we  have  in 
Chicago,  and  that's  saying  much." 

"Yes,"  I  replied  with  some  confusion,  "but 
you  can't  expect  a  fellow  to  carry  a  divining  rod 
about  with  him,  and  besides,  your  family  is  one 
of  the  highest  respectability." 

My  young  visitor  sneered  perceptibly  and  re- 
torted : 

"Of  course,  you  are  like  the  rest  of  humanity, 
looking  for  respectabihty  in  high  places  and  over- 
looking the  pearls  that  he  imbedded  in  the  mud 
of  poverty  and  social  mediocrity.  I  really  feel 
inclined  to  lecture  j^ou,  doctor,  you  seem  so  woe- 
fully stupid  in  some  directions.  Here  you  are, 
with  abundant  opportunities  for  study  and  ob- 


232  A  WISE  CHILD 

servation  of  human  nature,  maundering  of  're- 
spectability' as  a  factor  in  diagnosis!  Not  but 
that  it  is  a  factor  sometimes,  but  you  don't  weigh 
the  evidence  just  right.  You  are  incHned  to 
misconstrue  social  prominence  as  a  factor  in  your 
diagnoses.  Your  interpretation  of  it  is  only  too 
often  precisely  opposite  to  the  truth. 

''Look  at  the  childlessness  of  the  average  high- 
toned  family — look  at  the  character  of  the  prog- 
eny of  those  who  do  have  children,  and  then 
babble  of  'respectabihty !'  Faugh!  doctor,  you 
make  me  sick.  For  a  scientific  physician,  you 
are  the  most  innocent  man  I  ever  knew." 

"Oh,  come  now,"  I  said,  "I  don't  pretend  to 
know  it  all,  but  I  am  not  quite  so  big  a  fool  as 
you  might  suppose." 

"Well,  perhaps  not— quite.  There  may  be 
bigger  chumps,  but  I  dare  say  they  are  all  prac- 
ticing medicine." 

"By  the  way,"  he  continued,  "speaking  of 
honoring  one's  father,  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me 
see  why  a  fellow  should  be  expected  to  do  that. 
Fathers  are  mere  accidents  in  the  scheme  of  na- 
ture. You  see,  anybody  will  answer  for  a  father, 
but  with  your  mother — well,  that's  different.  No 
other  could  fill  her  place.  Most  people  think 
the  male  human  is  the  important  element  in  our 


A  WISE  CHILD  233 

social  system,  but  that's  all  rot.  He  is  a  secon- 
dary consideration,  a  mere  incident,  and  should 
be  given  to  understand  it." 

"Um-m  ah!"  I  answered  slowly,  "I  believe 
the  truth  is  gradually  dawning  upon  him.  The 
new  woman  is — " 

"Great  guns,  doctor!  Do  you  mean  those 
things  with  breeches  on,  that  ride  bicycles,  and 
play  foot  ball?" 

"Well,  in  a  measure,  yes,"  I  replied. 

"Come,  come,  doctor!  I  was  talking  about 
natural  phenomena  as  involved  in  the  perpet- 
uation of  the  species;  I  had  no  thought  of  what 
biologists  term  sports  in  nature." 

"Ah,  that's  different,  my  boy,"  I  said,  "un- 
less you  use  the  term  'sport'  as  a  double  en- 
tendre.'' 

"1  don't  think  I  quite  understand  you,  doc- 
tor." 

"Oh  well,  I  suppose  my  play  upon  words 
was  a  little  too  commonplace  for  you,"  I  re- 
plied, meanwhile  thinking  that  the  Smith  baby 
was  something  of  a  chump  himself.  Not  wish- 
ing to  hurt  his  feelings,  however,  I  held  my 
peace,  and  he  continued : 

"Do  you  know,  doctor,  I  think  that  if  a 
child  is  expected  to  honor  its  father,  it  should 


234  A  WISE  CHILD 

have  some  voice  in  his  selection.  Now,  for 
example,"  and  the  poor  little  chap  felt  of  his 
bumps  and  gazed  mom'nfully  at  his  crippled 
limbs,  ''I  should  not  have  been  as  I  am,  had 
I  been  permitted  to  select  my  father.  Of 
course  I  might  have  made  a  mistake,  anjr^ay, 
but  you  can  be  assured  that  I  should  never 
have  selected   Smith." 

**Well,  Smith  might  not  have  been  such 
a   bad   father   if — " 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say, 
doctor,  but  no  amount  of  preparatory  treat- 
ment would  ever  have  made  Smith  anything 
but  a  mean  old  cuss,  anyhow." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  I  answered, 
"and,  come  to  think  of  it,  as  your  family  is 
a  comparatively  new  one  to  me,  I  believe  I'll 
insist  on   monthly   settlements   of   my   bills." 

"Well,  you  know  your  own  business  better 
than  I  do,  but  I  know  Smith  pretty  well,  and  I 
don't  think  it  will  do  any  harm, — unless  he 
gets  mad  and  changes  doctors.  I  hope  he 
won't  do  that,  for  I  am  beginning  to  like  you 
pretty  well,  and  I  dread  a  change.  There's  no 
telling  what  these  highly  'respectable'  people 
will  do,  you  know,  and  now  that  you  are  be- 
ginning to  understand  my  case  a  little,  a  change 


A  WISE  CHILD  235 

of  doctors  might  be  disastrous.  You  see,  I 
can't  talk  to  everybody  as  freely  as  I  feel  that 
I   can  to  you." 

"Then  I  guess  I  won't  send  in  any  bill,  it 
would  be  too  bad  to  neglect  you,  just  because 
your  father  is — " 

''A  brute,   eh,  doctor?" 

"N-no,  I  shouldn't  hke  to  say  that,"  I  re- 
plied. 

''Because  of  his  eminent  respectability,  I 
presume,"  said  my  visitor,  grinning  sarcas- 
tically. 

I  was  discreetly  silent. 

''Well,"  continued  the  young  wiseacre,  "I 
don't  suppose  that  you  and  I  alone  could  set- 
tle a  certain  phase  of  the  social  problem,  even 
if  we  were  foolish  enough  to  try,  but  there  are 
some  very  interesting  points  that  might  be 
discussed  upon  the  question  of  that  veneering 
of  'respectabihty'  for  which  you  seem  to  have 
such  gTcat  reverence.  I  should  hke  to  discuss 
them  with  you,  did  time  permit.  I  assure 
you  that  I  have  given  the  subject  much  con- 
scientious study  and  deep  thought. 

"There  is  one  point,  doctor,  in  which  you 
physicians  are  very  remiss,  and  which,  for  the 
sake   of   suffering   childhood,    I    cannot   allow 


236  A  WISE  CHILD 

to  pass  unnoticed.  I  refer  to  the  indiscrini- 
inate  fashion  in  which  people  are  allowed  to 
marry,  and  rear  children.  Why,  when  I  look 
about  me  and  see  the  number  of  infantile 
WTecks,  who,  Uke  myself,  are  victims  of  your 
pernicious  social  system,  I  am  disgusted.  If 
the  principals  in  matrimonial  mistakes  were 
the  only  ones  to  suffer,  it  would  be  different, 
but  it's  the  babies  that  get  the  worst  of  it. 
And  you  medical  blockheads  look  on  and  say 
nothing.  You  are  too  stupid  to  see  anything, 
perhaps,  and  therefore  have  nothing  to  say." 

"Well,  my  boy,  you  have  the  making  of  a 
social  reformer  in  you.  I  don't  know  that  I 
ever  gave  the  subject  much  thought.  I  have 
been   too   busy   mth — " 

"Too  busy  trying  to  cure  results  to  inquire 
into  causes,  eh,  doctor?" 

"Why,  I— that  is,  not  exactly,"  I  stammered, 
"you  know,  my  boy,   that — " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  understand,  old  fellow,  you  are 
not  quite  bhnd  to  such  things,  but  you  don't 
propose  either  to  pose  as  a  Hercules  cleaning 
out  the  Augean  stables,  or  expose  yourself  to 
the  same  sort  of  ridicule  as  did  Don  Quixote 
when  he  challenged  the  wind-mills.     Shame  on 


A  WISE  CHILD  237 

you,  doctor!    Be  a  good  Philistine  and  snap 
your   fingers   at   conventionalities!" 

*'See  here,  my  young  friend,  I  am  practicing 
medicine  for  a  livelihood,  and  I  can't  afford 
to  be  radical  in  my  views.  It's  all  well  enough 
to  scarify  society,  if  you  don't  depend  upon 
it  for  bread  and  butter — but  in  my  case  it's  dif- 
ferent, and  I  must  be  careful." 

Young  Smith  shrugged  his  shoulders  some- 
what  contemptuously,   and   replied: 

"What  a  queer  world!  You  fellows  work 
hke  a  dog  in  a  treadmill  all  your  lives,  trying 
to  make  enough  hay  while  the  sun  is  shining, 
to  enable  you  to  take  some  comfort  by  and 
by.  When  the  'by  and  by'  comes,  you  have 
lost  the  capacity  for  enjoyment.  You  slave 
from  morning  till  night,  to  acquire  a  com-, 
petency — and  the  brains — that  will  enable  you 
to  be  independent  in  thought  and  action. 
Then,  when  the  wished-for  time  does  come, 
you — ^well,  you  roll  over  hke  a  fish  and  die. 
Always  going  to  have  a  good  time — some  day ; 
always  going  to  be  a  Philistine  —  some  day ; 
always  looking  ahead  into  that  undiscovered 
country  where  lies — the  grave.  Your  ambition 
ends  in  six  feet  of  earth.     Pshaw!   how  you 


238  A  WISE  CHILD 

people  irritate  me!  Why  not  learn  to  labor 
and  to  loaf?" 

My  visitor's  words  impressed  me  more  than 
I  would   have  been   willing   to   acknowledge. 

"Heigho!"  I  exclaimed,  "I  don't  know  but 
you  are  right,  my  boy,  and  yet,  I  don't  ex- 
actly see  how  I  can  help  matters  much.'* 

'There's  one  thing  you  can  do,  doctor, 
you  can  at  least  make  the  effort  to  impress 
upon  the  public  the  necessity  of  treating  human 
beings  with  the  same  degree  of  intelligence 
and  consideration  that  you  bestow  upon  an- 
imals. Get  rid  of  that  idiotic,  sentimental 
moonshine  about  'joining  two  souls  in  wed- 
lock' and  come  down  to  the  common-sense 
basis  of  a  union  for  a  specific,  organic  purpose 
between  two  bipeds,  that  are  or  should  be, 
subject  to  the  same  laws  as  other  animals. 
Do  this  and  there  will  be  fewer  hideous  heads 
and  miserable  legs  like  mine." 

My  little  friend  wept  silently. 

"Come,  come,  my  lad,  cheer  up,"  I  said, 
"You  must  remember  that  the  ranks  of  the 
immortal  geniuses  of  the  world  have  been 
largely  recruited  from  such  material  as  your- 
self." 

"You  doubtless  mean  to  be  consoling,  my 


A  WISE  CHILD  239 

dear  sir,"  replied  the  child,  ^'but  you  forget 
the  chief  consolation  contained  in  your  argu- 
ment." 

'Tray,  what  is  that?"   I  asked. 

"Why  those  degenerate  geniuses  die  young, 
and  leave  no  posterity  to  perpetuate  their 
misery." 

*'You  are  right,"  I  said,  musingly.  **I  did 
not   think   of   that." 

*'Do  you  know,  doctor,  that  the  most  phil- 
osophic bon  mot  ever  perpetrated,  and  the 
one  which  seems  most  appropriate  to  my  case, 
is  that  facetious  description  which  somebody 
gave  of  the  mule.  He  said,  if  I  remember 
correctly,  that  the  mule  was  an  animal  which 
had  no  'pride  of  paternity  and  no  hope  of  pos- 
terity'." 

"And  yet,"  I  replied,  the  mule  is  not  the 
happiest  and  most  placid  animal  in  the  world. 
The  clam  is  his  superior  in  many  respects." 

"Yes,  and  there  are  many  human  clams. 
I  fancy,  however,  that  you  do  not  envy  them, 
doctor." 

"Well,  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,  my 
dear  young  friend.  The  higher  emotions  and 
more  refined  sensibilities  are  the  foundation 
of  most  of  the  sorrows  of  hfe." 


240  A  WISE  CHILD 

"But  what  of  the  pleasures,  doctor?" 
''True,   I   had   forgotten   them,"    I   rephed. 

We  sat  for  some  time,  young  Smith  and  I, 
silently  gazing  into  the  fireplace.  My  cigar 
having  gone  out,  I  relighted  it  and  began  puf- 
fing vigorously,  with  the  result  of  blowing  some 
dense  clouds  of  smoke  in  the  direction  of  my 
visitor.  A  sharp  cough,  followed  by  a  decided 
sputter,  reminded  me  of  my  unintentional 
discourtesy. 

"Pardon  me,  my  boy,  but  I  forgot  that  you 
are   not   used    to    tobacco." 

The  wise  child  smiled,  and  with  a  humorous 
twinkle  in  his  bright  eyes  replied: 

"Well,  doctor,  you  haven't  given  me  much 
opportunity  to  become  inured  to  it  this  even- 
ing— save  by  proxy,  and  there  are  some  things 
that  cannot  be  done  by  proxy  with  any  degree 
of  satisfaction." 

"Good  heavens,  boy!  You  don't  mean  to 
say  that  you  smoke?" 

"Don't  I,  though?    Just  try  me  and  see." 

Amazed  though  I  was,  I  politely  extended 
my  cigar  case.  With  the  air  of  a  connoisseur, 
my  visitor  selected  one,  bit  off  the  end,  and, 
taking  my  proffered  match,  Ughted  the  weed 


A  WISE  CHILD  241 

and  began  smoking,  with  all  the  sang  froid 
of  an  old  timer. 

"By  Jove!  doctor,  you  don't  smoke  drug- 
store cigars,   I  see." 

"N — no,"  I  said,  "I  get  the  best  there  is 
in  the  market,"  meanwhile  mentally  apolo- 
gizing to  my  friend  K — ,  the  pharmacist  who 
had  given  me  the  box  from  which  that  very 
cigar  was  taken. 

''Do  you  know,  doctor,  I  haven't  enjoyed 
a  smoke  for  ages.  I  used  to  'hit  the  pipe,' 
as  you  now  express  it,  when  I  was  on  earth 
before.  But  then,"  he  sighed,  "opium  was 
opium  in  those  days." 

"And  pray,  what  is  it  nowadays?"  I  asked. 

"Soothing  S}Tup,  b'gosh!  And  I  don't  hke 
it  a  Httle  bit,  though  I've  swallowed  a  barrel 
of  it. 

"Which  reminds  me  that  you  doctors  don't 
know  much  about  coHcky  babies,"  said  my 
visitor. 

"N — no — I  don't  suppose  we  do  know  a 
great  deal  about  infantile  colic — save  by  its 
works — drat   it!" 

"And  its  music,"  said  young  Smith,  chuck- 
ling audibly,  as  a  prolonged,  painful,  quaver- 


242  A  WISE  CHILD 

ing  wail  was  wafted  in  at  the  window  from  a 
house  across  the  street. 

''Come,  come,  my  boy,  you  mustn't  be  too 
hard  on  us  doctors.  Besides,  that  confound- 
ed young  one  over  yonder  isn't  under  my  care. 
If  he  was  it  might  be  different.  One  of  my 
brethren  from  Dearborn  Avenue  has  charge 
of  him.  He  doesn't  seem  to  be  succeeding 
very  well,  either,  for  the  little  fiend  is  yelling 
night  and  day.  He  has  kept  me  awake  nights 
for  about  three  weeks.  If  I  shut  down  the 
windows,  I  smother,  and  if  I  open  them  that 
vicious  little  animal  disturbs  my  rest — and 
there  you  are!" 

"Well,  why  don't  you  do  something  for  the 
poor  httle  chap?" 

"Oh,  as  I  told  you,  he's  not  my  patient. 
It  wouldn't  be  ethical  for  me  to  chip  in,"  I 
replied.  "And  besides,  I  don't  think  his  mother 
would  give  him  the  medicine,  even  if  I  should 
send  it  over." 

"Ah,  then  you  think  you  could  relieve  him, 
eh?  I  am  glad  to  know  there  is  one  doctor  who 
knows  how  to  treat  colic.  Really,  I'm  almost 
sorry  I  haven't  had  it  since  I  have  been  under 
your  care.  Tell  me,  pray,  what  would  you  give 
the  child?" 


A  WISE  CHILD  243 

'Tour  ounces  of  chloroform,"  I  replied,  vin- 
dictively. 

'The  trouble  with  you  doctors  nowadays," 
said  the  Smith  baby,  ''is  that  you  talk  too  much 
about  microbes.  Do  j^ou  remember  that  attack 
of  cholera-infantum  I  had?" 

"Yes — I  should  rather  think  I  did." 

"Well,  you  talked  about  toxins,  and  microbes, 
until  you  made  me  sicker  than  ever.  There  I 
was,  drinking  hog-wash  baby-food  out  of  a 
dirty  old  bottle  through  a  nasty  rubber  tube, 
and  poisoning  myself  every  time  I  did  it,  and  you 
talking  about  germs  and  such  things!  Germs 
be  bio  wed !  I  was  suffering  from  an  overdose  of 
dirt — just  plain  ordinary  dirt.  Mother  was  too 
busy  with  her  receptions  and  parties,  to  attend 
to  me,  and  that  fool  nurse  neglected  me.  You 
told  her  to  scald  my  bottle,  but  she  never  did  it. 
Why,  the  day  before  I  fell  sick,  the  cat  was  play- 
ing with  that  infernal  tube  for  a  straight  two 
hours." 

My  visitor  was  becoming  excited.  He  fairly 
shrieked — "Microbes,  germs,  toxins!  Dirt,  sir, 
just  plain,  common,  everyday  dirt!" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "some  of  us  doctors  are  begin- 
ning to  beUeve  that  while  there  may  be  a  distinc- 


244  A  WISE  CHILD 

tion  between  dirt  and  microbes,  there's  precious 
little  practical  difference  after  all." 

"I  wonder  if  the  Lord  ever  intended  man  to 
smoke,"  said  the  wise  child.  ''He  would  have 
made  the  tobacco  plant  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
if  he  had  known  as  much  about  nicotine  as  we 
do." 

'Tossibly,"  I  replied,  ''but  there  are  different 
opinions  on  that  subject.  A  radical  old  minis- 
ter once  said  that  if  the  Lord  had  intended  man 
to  smoke,  he  would  have  put  a  chimney  in  the 
back  of  his  head." 

"Humph!  that  old  fool  didn't  know  much.  If 
he  had  ever  smoked — a — cigar  like  this — he — 
would — " 

My  young  friend  paused,  and  put  his  hand  to 
the  pit  of  his  stomach. 

"Why,  my  dear  boy,  you  seem  distressed. 
Really,  you  are  quite  pale.  Pray,  let  me  get 
you  some — " 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,  doctor,  I— well,  you  see,  I 
am  not  used  to — to  late  hours,"  said  the  poor 
little  chap,  with  a  painful  effort  to  smile. 

"Perhaps  some  fresh  air  might  make  you  feel 
better,"  I  suggested.  "I  will  raise  another 
window." 


A  WISE  CHILD  245 

"N — no,  never  mind.  I  believe  I'll  just  step 
to  the  door  for  a  moment,  if  you  don't  object.  I 
feel  a  little—" 

I  grasped  the  situation,  and  hastily  escorted 
my  visitor  to  the  veranda. 

Appreciating  the  deUcacy  of  my  guest's  posi- 
tion, I  then  discreetly  returned  to  my  sanctum 
and  resumed  my  cigar.  Certain  peculiar  sounds 
that  came  through  the  open  door,  confirmed  my 
hasty  diagnosis. 

I  waited  until  the  tumultuous  heavings  of  my 
young  friend's  diaphragm  had  ceased,  and  then 
went  out  to  ask  him  to  return  to  the  hbrary,  but 
he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  ''wise  child" 
had  gone ! 

As  I  stood  there  musing,  and  thinking  that 
nicotine  levels  all  intellectual  distinctions  be- 
tween children,  a  firm  hand  was  laid  on  my 
shoulder  and  a  voice  said  in  my  ear : 

"Doctor,  you  have  been  sleeping  in  your  chair 
about  long  enough.     Go  to  bed,  you  silly  fellow !" 

I  was  about  to  follow  my  wife's  advice,  when — 

"Ting — ahng — a — ling!"  came  a  ring  at  the 
telephone. 

I  fear  I  was  not  very  suave  as  I  answered — 

"Hello,  hello !    What's  wanted?" 


246  A  WISE  CHILD 

''Why,  the  baby's  got  the  colic  to  beat  the  very 
devil,  and  I  wish  you'd  come  down  right  away." 

"Get  out!"  I  howled.  'Tou'U  have  to  get 
some  other  doctor.  I  don't  call  on  strangers  at 
night,"  adding,  sotto  voce,  ''nor  anybody  else, 
if  I  can  help  it." 

"Why,  doctor,  don't  you  know  who  this  is?" 

"No,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do.  Who  the  deuce 
are  you,  anyhow?" 

"Who?    Me?    ^Vhy,  doctor,  I'm  Smith!" 


LEAVES  FROM  A   SUICIDE'S 
DIARY 


I  was  very  young  when  the  idea  of  suicide 
first  suggested  itself  to  me; — my  hfe  had  its 
troubles  as  far  back  as  my  memory  extends. 
I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  taking  a  certain 
degree  of  interest  in  the  subject  when  I  was  a 
mere  lad, — long  before  I  first  thought  of  keeping 
a  record  of  my  impressions.  My  father  had 
whipped  me  for  some  trivial  matter;  so  tri^dal 
was  it,  and  so  severe  my  punishment,  that  I 
was  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  the  cruel  in- 
justice of  it  all.  Father  was  a  stern,  cold  man, 
and  a  man  of  moods.  He  could  be  affectionate 
at  times,  and  I  presume  that  deep  down  in  his 
heart  he  loved  me,  but,  as  I  have  said,  he  was 
a  man  of  moods — and  they  were  not  always 
pleasant  ones  for  those  around  him.  It  is  a 
curious  psychic  fact  that  some  men  are  subject 
to  storms  of  passion  which,  concealed  through 
politic  motives  from  all  but  those  most  entitled 
to  consideration,  seemingly  must  be  vented 
upon  those  whom  affection  should  protect. 
My  father  was  such  a  man,  and  I,  his  eldest 


248        LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY 

child,  was  the  member  of  the  family  who  most 
often  suffered  from  his  horrible  nerve  storms. 
As  I  grew  older  he  became  more  and  more 
inconsiderate  in  his  treatment  of  me,  and  more 
and  more  severe  in  his  punishments. 

I  believe  that  all  boys  of  good  breeding  and 
average  physical  stamina,  are  conscious  at 
times  that  paternal  punishment  is  frequently 
dictated  by  love  and  sincere  interest  in  the 
welfare  of  the  victim.  It  is  this  sort  of  punish- 
ment that  is  followed  by  a  healthy  moral  and 
physical  reaction.  But  with  punishment  unde- 
served, and  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  offense 
which  it  is  intended  to  reprove,  it  is  quite  dif- 
ferent. Once  let  a  boy  experience  such  punish- 
ment, and  there  arises  in  him  a  sense  of  rebellion 
against  parental  authority,  and  his  respect  and 
affection  for  the  parent  becomes  tinctured 
with  bitterness  that  even  Time  cannot  efface. 

Once  let  the  iron  of  vindictive  resentment 
against  oppression  and  injustice  enter  his  soul, 
and  your  loving  and  lovable  boy  becomes 
transformed — he  ages  perceptibty,  and  his  fair 
young  life,  his  innocent  childhood  is  gone — to 
return  no  more.  ''When  I  am  a  man ! "  he  cries, 
and  that  part  of  the  river  of  life  which  flows 
between  childhood  and  manhood, — his  youth, 


LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DLVRY         249 

— is  spanned  by  a  bridge  of  sighs  over  which  he 
who  crosses  can  not  return.  ''WHEN  I  AM 
A  MAN!"  Alas!  the  bitter  words  are  hardly- 
spoken  ere  the  boy  is  a  man — and  such  a  man! 
A  man  without  memory  of  happy  and  tranquil 
youth — is  he  not  a  flower  that  has  bloomed  to 
a  semblance  of  maturity,  yet  has  never  been 
pervaded  by  that  subtle  fragrance  which  only 
the  warm,  tender  affection  of  budding  youth 
imparts? 

In  my  case  the  effect  was  very  peculiar; 
I  was  made  to  feel  not  only  the  injustice  of  my 
punishment,  but  a  profound  sense  of  humili- 
ation. My  pride  was  wounded  more  than  my 
physical  body — and,  God  knows,  that  was 
wounded  severely  enough.  Ah,  thou  hadst  a 
heavy  hand,  oh  father  mine!  Would  that  I  had 
experienced  more  of  resentment  and  less  of 
mortification.  The  former  would  have  been 
bad  enough,  but  the  latter  made  life  a  hell  on 
earth  for  me.  I  was  fragile,  nervous,  sensitive, 
and  of  a  physique  that  ill  bore  abuse.  Sensitive 
though  m}^  physical  body  was,  I  had  a  mental 
make-up  that  was  even  more  so.  How  I 
brooded  over  that  terrible  whipping — the  last 
my  father  ever  gave  me,  for  he  died  soon  after. 
The  world  seemed  so  dark  and  gloomy  to  me. 


250        LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY 

There  was  no  rift  in  those  sombre  clouds  that 
gave  forth  the  bitter  rain  which  tinctured  my 
young  hfe  with  gall  and  wormwood.  There 
was  no  happiness  anywhere. 

My  mother,  angel  that  she  was,  and  is, — if 
there  be  aught  of  justice  or  compassion  in  the 
hereafter, — tried  to  stem  the  torrent  of  grief 
that  was  overwhelming  my  young  Hfe,  tried 
to  dispel  the  poisonous  miasm  that  had  dis- 
seminated itself  throughout  every  element  of 
my  moral  and  intellectual  being,  by  such  love 
and  consolation  as  only  a  tender,  sympathetic 
mother  can  give,  but  in  vain.  A  constant, 
oppressive,  deeply  rooted  melancholy  took  pos- 
session of  me.  I  lost  my  animation  and  became 
as  near  a  misanthrope  as  one  of  my  years  and 
limited  experience  could  possibly  be.  And 
the  shadow  of  that  storm  cloud  of  emotion 
has  never  been  quite  dissipated  in  the  wearing 
of  the  passing  years  of  life's  battle.  Woe  to 
him  the  memory  of  whose  youth  is  enwrapped 
in  a  funereal  pall  and  in  whose  mouth  there 
remains  the  bitter  taste  of  humiliation,  of 
outraged  pride  and  self-respect. 

It  was  during  the  period  immediately  follow- 
ing the  castigation  I  have  mentioned,  that  the 
notion  of  self-destruction  first  crystallized  in 


LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY        251 

my  mind.  I  do  not  remember  just  how  I 
reasoned  upon  the  matter;  I  recall  clearly 
enough,  however,  that  I  was  profoundly  im- 
pressed with  the  idea  that  my  woes  were  bearing 
me  down  to  the  depths  of  misery  and  despair. 
There  rested  upon  me  a  dreadful  incubus  from 
which  there  seemed  to  be  but  one  means  of 
escape. 

I  had  seen  persons  lying  dead,  and  I  remember 
that  in  my  despairing,  hopeless  state  of  mind  the 
thought  of  the  peaceful,  quiet  expression  upon 
their  faces  was  positively  fascinating  to  me. 
I  found  myself  dwelling  upon  it  with  much 
interest,  and  a  feeling  akin  to  envy. 

Well,  as  I  have  said,  I  do  not  remember 
precisely  how  I  formulated  my  conclusions,  but 
I  finally  resolved  to  make  away  with  myself. 
Unfortunately,  however,  one  of  the  traits  with 
which  I  was  endowed  by  nature,  was  a  fear  of 
physical  suffering,  and  when  the  resolution  to 
take  my  own  life  had  been  formed,  I  still  had 
to  deal  with  my  physical  cowardice. 

It  has  been  said  that  only  cowards  and  luna- 
tics commit  suicide.  There  was  never  a  greater 
lie  than  this.  Lunatics  may  suicide — cowards, 
never.  It  requires  true  heroism  to  face  an 
unknown  hereafter — to  fly  from  those  ills  we 


252        LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY 

have  to  those  we  know  not  of.  And  the  hapless 
one  to  whom  Ufe  is  a  burden  must  have  courage 
par  excellence,  to  enable  him  to  face  that  dread 
futm'e  which,  if  he  be  scripturally  credulous, 
must  needs  be  more  fearful  than  the  terrestrial 
unhappiness  that  he  fain  w^ould  escape.  No, 
suicide  requires  bravery,  and  I  w^as  not  brave — I 
had  hardly  gotten  beyond  that  dread  of  drji^kness 
and  soHtude  which  is  the  bane  of  childish  exist- 
ence. ^Vhat  wonder  that  I  dreaded  to  take 
so  radical  a  road  out  of  my  slough  of  despond? 
The  physical  penalty  of  self-destruction  was 
the  most  important  obstacle  to  be  overcome  if 
I  would  escape  from  my  mental  slavery.  So 
great  was  my  dread  of  it,  that — ^v/ell,  I  lived, 
and,  more's  the  pity,  am  still  living,  a  miserable 
misanthrope,  in  whom  the  misery  of  the  present 
is  exceeded  only  by  his  dread  of  the  unknown 
countrj^,  and  his  physical  fears  of  the  means 
necessary  to  take  him  hence. 

I  wonder  if  there  are  many  who  are  entrusted 
with  the  care  of  youth,  who  ever  think  of  their 
influence  in  moulding  its  future  destinies.  I 
have  long  since  forgiven  my  father  for  his  harsh- 
ness— ^but  the  memory  of  my  youthful  sorrows 
can  never  be  effaced.     Does  science  recognize 


LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY        253 

such  a  thing  as  a  mental  scar?  It  should. 
And  mental  scars,  though  unseen,  are  not  only 
permanent,  but  ever  painful.  Death  finally 
claimed  my  father  through  his  one  infirmity. 
He  died  of  apoplexy,  superinduced  by  one  of 
his  attacks  of  blind,  unreasoning  passion.  I 
know  not  where  he  is,  but  I  trust  he  is  uncon- 
scious of  the  results  of  his  mismanagement  of 
his  unfortunate  son.  I  say  I  know  not  where 
he  is,  advisedly.  My  views  of  the  hereafter — if 
I  may  call  the  chaotic  ideas  I  have  hitherto 
entertained,  views — have  undergone  consider- 
able modification  of  late.  I  am  losing  my 
egotism,  and  gradually  coming  to  believe  that 
death  is  but  another  name  for  oblivion.  How 
prosaic  it  is,  to  be  sure.  By  no  means  so 
satisfying  to  the  ignorant,  and  those  of  the 
faith — ^^;v^hich  is  sometimes  another  way  of 
putting  the  same  proposition — as  that  halo  of 
glory  for  the  good,  or  that  blaze  of  everlasting 
fire  for  the  wicked,  which  theology  from  time 
immemorial  has  prescribed  for  the  dying.  And 
if  obhvion  be  the  finality,  what  more  could  the 
All  Father  do  for  his  tired  children? 

What  would  my  life  have  been  had  I  possessed 
a  different  temperament?     Possibly  if  I  had 


254        LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY 

been  born  of  other  blood,  and  under  more 
propitious  skies,  I  would  have  seen  the  world 
through  different  eyes.  There  might  have  been 
more  coleur  de  rose  and  less  of  sombre  tints  and 
neutrals.  To  be  born  in  the  shadows — ah,  me! 
The  sun  of  morning  has  never  gilded  my  moun- 
tain -tops,  nor  even  at  mid-day  penetrated  the 
fog  and  gloom  of  the  valleys  of  my  soul.  Golden 
sunsets  and  glorious  afterglows  are  not  for  me. 
Twilight  alone  is,  and  ever  has  been  mine. 
Perhaps  if  I  could  have  loved — 'Tissaid  that  love 
illumines  one's  soul.  But  I  have  never  loved. 
There  was  once  a  woman,  whom  men  called 
beautiful,  but  I  do  not  remember  much  of  her. 
She  had  a  skin  of  blood  and  milk,  golden  hair, 
and  pale  blue  eyes  that  never  looked  straight 
at  you.  Her  voice,  as  I  recall  it,  was  sweet 
enough,  but  it  did  not  ring  true,  and  when  she 
laughed — but  why  do  I  speak  of  her?  She  did 
not  understand,  and  she  is  but  a  dream  figure 
now. 

Some  one  has  said  that  ambition  is  the  main- 
spring of  life.  I  do  not  know,  yet  I  have  had 
ambition — of  a  certain  kind.  Mine  has  been  to 
learn,  to  know,  to  acquire  wisdom  that  should 
raise  me  out  of  the  dead  level  of  mediocrity. 
But  Ambition  is  the  twin  sister  of  Discontent, 


LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY        255 

and  Discontent  is  the  mother  of  Melancholy 
and  Despair.  Work  as  I  might — and  I  have 
never  been  a  drone — there  has  always  been  some 
one  just  ahead  of  me  whose  results  were  so 
much  more  commendable  than  my  own  that, — 
well,  one  might  as  well  work  on,  even  though 
he  never  accomplishes  anything  worth  while. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  world  has  been  no  better 
for  anything  I  ever  did.  And  still  I  work.  I 
often  wonder  if  the  fellow^  ahead  of  me  in  hfe's 
battle  does  not  feel  the  same  way; — there's 
always  another  just  ahead  of  him.  There  can 
be  no  satisfaction  in  work  well  done  when 
another  goal  is  looming  up  just  beyond  the  one 
we  have  reached.  I  saw"  a  herd  of  cattle  the 
other  day,  lying  beneath  a  spreading  oak, 
placidly  chewing  their  cuds,  and  as  I  looked  at 
them  I  fancied  they  gazed  at  me  somewhat  pitj- 
ingly.  "Ah,"  I  thought,  "here  is  contentment 
indeed."  I  really  envied  them — mi  til  I  noticed 
the  flies  that  tormented  their  glossy  hides.  One 
might  as  well  be  tormented  by  ambitions  as  by 
flies  and  gnats.  Possibly  Nature  is  jealous  of 
her  children,  and  Tvill  permit  none  of  them  to 
experience  the  joy  of  mere  living  unannoyed. 

A  friend  of  mine  once  said  to  me,  "How  very 


256        LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY 

odd,  that  you  should  have  taken  up  the  science 
of  chemistry  and  made  a  recluse  of  yourself, 
delving  and  diving  into  secrets  of  nature  which, 
as  you  have  never  made  any  practical  use  of 
them,  might  as  well  have  remained  mysteries." 
Here  was  another  who  did  not  understand — 
another  who,  like  all  the  rest  of  those  who 
called  themselves  and  whom  I  called  my  friends, 
could  not  sympathize  with  me  in  my  devotion 
to  study,  because  there  were  no  flesh  pots  in 
sight  to  serve  as  a  motive  for  the  work.  To 
such  sordid  ones  I  could  not  well  lay  bare  the 
bitter  humihations  with  which  my  all  too 
evident  failure  to  attain  practical  results  have 
afflicted  me.  I  could  not  lay  bare  the  secret 
aspirations  that  impelled  me  to  seek  for  things 
which  would  have  given  me  a  place  as  a  bene- 
factor of  my  kind  and  enrolled  me  among  the 
inmiortals.  And  suppose  I  had  ever  confessed 
that  the  mystery  of  ancient  alchemy  so  im- 
pressed me  that  I  must  needs  grasp  at  its  only 
modern  representative,  chemistry — ^would  not 
my  friends  have  laughed  at  me? 

What  an  atmosphere  the  chemical  laboratory 
is  for  one  of  my  temperament!  What  a  fasci- 
nation there  is  in  the  thought  that  the  door  of 


LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY        257 

escape  for  the  world  weary, — which,  as  dear 
old  Epictetus  said,  is  always  open, — is  so  near 
— so  near  that  one  must  needs  be  careful  lest 
he  pass  the  portals  ere  he  is  ready.  How  many 
times  have  I  wondered  if  what  the  text  books 
say  of  arseniureted  hydrogen,  and  of  anhydrous 
hydrocyanic  acid  is  really  true.  And  how 
many  times  have  I  been  tempted  to — well,  to 
put  them  to  a  test  on  a  fellow  worker.  Not  upon 
myself,  for  I  am  not  yet  ready,  and  I  do  not 
court  death  by  accident.  My  own  death  must 
be  philosophic  when  it  comes,  not  sudden  and 
devoid  of  impressions.  Then,  too,  the  slower 
things  are  more  to  my  taste — morphine  for 
example.  When  I  am  ready — ^when  hfe  be- 
comes insupportable  boredom,  or  an  intolerable 
ache,  I  shall  know  just  where  and  how  to  seek 
surcease  of  world  tire.  And  what  a  record  I 
will  write  of  my  impressions.  How  dehberate 
and  scientific  it  will  all  be.  And  how  sure  I 
will  make  it.  These  amateurs,  with  their 
crude  methods  and  cowardly  shrinkings  back 
from  the  brink — faugh!  how  I  detest  them. 
The  idiots!  what  a  mess  some  of  them  make  of 
it,  and  how  some  of  them  suffer.  As  for  the 
fools  who  do  such  bungling  work  that  any  cheap 
doctor  called  in  a  hurry  can  undo  the  thing — 


258        LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY 

no  words  of  mine  can  express  my  contempt  for 
them.  That  doctor  who  swallowed  six  grains 
of  morphine  and  then  when  the  mist  began  to 
rise,  sent  for  another  fool  of  his  own  profes- 
sion to  succor  him,  was  a  coward  and  a  bung- 
ler. But,  I  have  said  that  a  suicide  is  never  a 
coward.  Yes,  and  I  meant  it,  too;  that  doctor 
was  a  pretender,  and  not  born  in  the  purple. 

These  love  lorn  servant  girls  and  heart  sick 
youths  who  drink  to  Death  libations  of  carbolic 
acid  are  most  amusing  folk.  They  have  cour- 
age, it  is  true,  and  doubtless  mean  well,  but 
they  lack  the  brains  to  be  original  and  clever. 
They  are  faddists  gone  mad. 

I  have  studied  all  of  the  methods  of  suicide 
in  vogue  and  the  more  I  see  of  them,  the  wiser 
I  think  I  was  in  selecting  chemistry  as  my  hfe 
work.  I  have  haunted  the  morgue;  I  have 
followed  to  that  horrid,  dripping,  smelly  slab, 
every  case  of  suicide  that  has  happened  in  this 
city.  And  such  sights  as  I  have  seen !  Bloated, 
festering  masses  of  flesh  that  required  great 
imagination  to  fashion  into  human  semblance, 
fresh  dragged  from  summer  waters;  distorted, 
blackened  faces  on  agony  twisted  forms  freshly 
cut  down  from  self-made  gibbets;  heads  blowTi 
open,   brain-bespattered    and    powder-marked 


LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY         259 

by  the  pistol;  limbs  crushed  and  torn  into 
disgusting  masses  and  shreds  of  ghastly  flesh, 
the  bones  staring  through  in  besplintered  pro- 
test against  the  savagery  of  men  who  seek  rest 
beneath  the  crunching  wheels  of  locomotives; 
sickening,  fresh  made  gashes  in  throats  that 
were  once  fair  to  look  upon — all  these  have  I 
seen  and  marveled   at. 

Only  yesterday  I  saw  lying  upon  that  famil- 
iar slab,  an  old,  old  man — found  dead  in  bed 
with  his  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  a  letter  in 
his  hand  saying  only  this :  "1  am  tired,  so  tired." 
''What  a  pity  it  is,"  I  thought,  as  I  looked  at 
the  fearful  gash  through  which  swollen  tongue 
and  severed  larynx  protruded,  at  the  blood 
bathed  clod  which  perchance  had  once  been 
loved,  ''that  this  man  should  have  lived  so 
long  without  learning  a  way." 

Then  there  was  that  dead  man  I  saw  taken 
from  the  river  the  other  day.  His  friends 
knew  of  his  business  troubles  and  feared  he 
had  suicided.  They  sought  for  him  for  days 
and  days,  poor  fools.  They  found  him  at  last, 
and  he  went  the  way  of  all  the  others — to  that 
vile  slab.  I  was  there  when  his  sweetheart 
came  to  see  his  remains.  They  tried  to  keep 
her  out,  but  she  entered  the  room  in  spite  of 


260        LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY 

them.  I  was  not  surprised  at  what  happened. 
The  transition  from  her  ideal,  the  lover  of  her 
memory,  to  that  sUmy,  oozy,  bloated  thing 
with  the  maggots  swarming  from  its  nose  and 
eyes  and  ears,  w^as  enough  to  shock  a  stronger 
heart  than  hers.  She  died  in  a  mad  house, 
screaming  against  the  maggots  that  she  fancied 
were  devolving  her. 

Ah,  there's  much  of  comfort  in  the  thought 
that  one  has  learned  a  way,  and  that  my  work 
in  science  has  not  all  come  to  naught.  How 
I  admire  that  man  of  whom  my  friend  Dr. 
X.  told  me  this  morning,  who  laughed  at  the 
doctors  who  worked  a  whole  night  over  him, 
trying  to  save  him  from  self  poisoning.  He 
would  revive  for  a  moment  under  their  efforts 
and  mutter,  "No  you  don't,  d— n  you, — ^you 
can't  do  it!"  and  then  lapse  into  coma  again. 
He  knew  a  w^ay,  did  that  man.  The  stupid 
doctors  did  not  know.  He,  hke  myself,  was  a 
chemist.  Was  he  merety  defiant,  or  was  it 
professional  pride  that  animated  him  when  he 
challenged  those  fool  doctors,  who  came  to 
interfere  with  his  plans,  but  knew  nothing  of 
the  symptoms  produced  by  a  clever  admixture 
of  laudanum  and  potassium  cyanide?  I  glory 
in    that    noble    man's    artistic    achievement — 


LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY        261 
I  glory  in  his  vindication  of  individual  rights. 

Existence  is  growing  absolutely  insupport- 
able to  me.  My  synthetic  experiments  with 
organic  elements  which  seemed  so  promising 
have  come  to  naught.  Another  of  my  failures ! 
I  haven't  the  energy  to  begin  all  over  again, 
neither  am  I  disposed  to  devise  experiments 
in  other  fields.  My  brain  is  pumped  out,  like 
a  dry  well.  My  heart  is  dead.  I  suppose  one 
might  live  with  a  dead  heart,  but  what's  the 
use?  I  begin  to  beheve  that  it  is  time  to — ^^'ell, 
to  follow  the  way.  There,  in  that  bottle  upon 
the  shelf,  are  four  grains  of — I  wonder  if  my 
figuring  was  correct?  There's  surely  enough. 
But  suppose  there  should  be  too  much?  Pshaw ! 
Why  do  I  doubt?  My  experimental  provings 
have  been  too  carefully  made  to  admit  of  sus- 
picion of  inaccuracy.     That  huge  dog  which — 

Why  not  to-night?  ''If  'twere  done,  when 
'tis  done,  'twere  well  it  were  done  quickly." 
There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not.  My 
affaii's—  What  affairs?  I  have  no  affairs.  My 
family?  There  is  none.  My  friends?  Pos- 
sibly there  are  some  who  will  read  the  obituary 
in  to-morrow's  paper,  and  sorrow  over  the 
necessity  of  going   to  the  ''crank  professor's" 


262         LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY 

funeral.  They  will  have  no  keener  regret,  for, 
thank  the  fates,  there  will  be  no  funeral  ex- 
penses, and  no  contributions  will  be  levied; 
I  have  attended  to  all  that.  My  friend,  Dr.  X., 
is  a  prosector  at  the  university,  and  to  him 
my  body  is  willed.  He  has  promised  to  wire 
the  skeleton  for  the  museum.  Good  fellow,  X. 
No  sentimental  gush  about  him.  I  wonder 
how  the  skeleton  will  look.  I  hope  X.  knows 
the  French  method  of  cleaning  bones.  It 
would  be  some  satisfaction  to  know  that  mine 
will  be  white  and  glistening,  and  nice  to  handle. 
I  wonder  what  those  French  fellows  use  that 
gives  that  faint  sweet  smell  to  newly  bleached 
human  bones.  I  suppose  I  might  have  written 
and  found  out,  but  I  never  thought  of  that. 

As  usual  at  this  hour  I  am  alone  in  the 
laboratory.  It  is  barely  possible  that  Professor 
A.  may  return  to-night.  I  fancy  he  did  not 
quite  finish  that  experiment  to-day.  It  would 
be  embarrassing  if  he  should  come  in  before 
I  had  passed  clear  through  the  door.  With 
that  narcotic  there  would  be  great  danger  of 
such  a  mishap.  I  want  to  acquit  myself  at 
least  as  creditably  as  did  that  man  of  whom  my 
friend  Dr.  X.—    Great  Charon!  the  very  thing. 


LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY        263 

There  should  be  a  bottle  of  cyanide  somewhere 
upon  the  shelves — 

How  very  awkward!  'Who  could  have  mis- 
placed that  bottle?  I  thought  I  knew  just 
where  to  put  my  hand  upon  it.  Well,  there's 
no  use  fretting  about  it,  to-morrow  I  will — Ah, 
now  I  think  of  it,  there's  a  vial  of  anhj^drous 
prussic  acid  in  that  little  drawer  in  A.'s  desk, 
and  I  have  a  key ! 

I  fancy  I  can  do  the  work  much  more  artis- 
tically than  did  X.'s  patient.  I  will  take  the 
narcotic  in  its  most  elegant  and  concentrated 
form,  instead  of  that  beastly  tincture.  I  hate 
nauseous  medicines.  As  for  the  prussic  acid, 
I  will  use  a  hypodermic.  Fortunately  there  is 
one  3"onder,  in  the  room  for  animal  experi- 
mentation. I  will  take  the  morphia  first,  and 
when  it  begins  to  act,  I  will  get  the  syrmge. 
There  will  be  plenty  of  time. 

How  simple;  just  a  tongue  coating  of  powder 
— a  mere  fleeting  dash  of  bitter — a  draught  of 
water  and — so  far  the  narcotic.  Now,  to  await 
results. 

How  exhilarating  the  primary  effects  of 
opium.     How  easy  to  chronicle  one's  impres- 


264        LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY 

sions.  How  I  can  write!  No  wonder  that 
DeQuincey — ;  I  seem  to  be  in  a  brighter  sphere. 
It  is  as  though  the  air  of  the  laboratory  had 
turned  to  pure  oxy^gen.  What  strength  I  feel! 
AVhat  mighty  deeds  could  I  not  accomplish  now? 
How  large  and  vivid  the  gas  lights  are.  There 
is  an  aureola  of  secondary  glow  about  each  of 
them.  I  would  experiment  with  them  to- 
morrow if —  What  music  is  that?  Is  it  not 
beautiful?  Why,  I  know  that  air — it  is  one  my 
mother  used  to  sing  when  I  was  a  little  lad — I 
remember  how  my  dear  little  sister  used  to — 
But  how  faint  the  strains  are  now.  And  the 
hghts  are  growing  dim.  It  will  soon  be  dark. 
My  chair  is  rocking,  too.  How  soothing  and 
sensuous  the  motion  seems.  How  drowsy  I  am 
getting — I  must  take  that  hypodermic  before 
I  get  too  sleepy. 

There,  that  shows  what  will  power  can  do. 
Some  men  would  have  gone  to  sleep  and  for- 
gotten the  rest  of  their  plans.  How  orderly 
a.nd  systematic  A.  is,  to  be  sure.  No  rummaging 
around  in  the  drawer  amid  a  confusion  of  things 
to  find  the  prussic.  How  tight  the  stopper  is. 
There,  now  I  have  it.  Pshaw!  I've  spilled 
half  of  it  on  the  floor  and  cut  my  fingers.  How 
clumsy  and   numb   my   fingers  are,   and   how 


LEAVES  FROM  A  SUICIDE'S  DIARY        265 

hot   and   fiery  this  blood   is.     How  deUghtful 
the  prussic  smells. 

Just  a  drop — the  morphia  will  combine  with 
it  and  neutraHze  it.  The  drugs  will  neutraUze 
each  other  just  sufficiently  to  give  me  plenty 
of  time,  and  I  shall  still  be  able  to  write.  Here, 
in  my  thigh — ^just  here —  Ah!  My  God!  too 
m — . 


CHIQUITA 

I  had  been  rambling  about  through  Calaveras, 
investigating  mining  properties,  and  incidentally 
enjoying  to  the  full  the  glorious  weather  of  the 
early  California  spring.  My  search  for  the  pot 
of  gold  at  the  foot  of  the  rainbow  had  led  me 
far  up  among  the  majestic  Sierras — those 
wondrous  mountains  at  the  foot  of  which  was 
verdure  more  beautiful  than  any  artist  could 
portray,  while  their  snow-covered  tops  reared 
themselves  proudly  through  the  clouds  and, 
peering  beyond,  seemed  to  challenge  the  very 
sky  to  descend  and  meet  them.  The  ravines 
and  gulches  were  tortured  and  torn  by  rushing 
torrents  from  the  melting  snows  above.  Every 
ri\ailet  had  become  a  brook,  every  brook  a 
river,  and  every  river  a  veritable  Niagara. 

So  replete  with  the  swift  rushing  yellow  waters 
were  the  courses  of  the  mountains  and  valleys, 
that  the  venerable  wise-acre,  yclept  ''the  oldest 
inhabitant,"  was  permitted  by  his  neighbors 
to  croak  to  his  heart's  content,  and  actually 
held  his  audiences  while  he  regaled  them  with 

366 


CHIQUITA  2G7 

the  horrors  of  ''the  freshet  of  the  spring  of  '61 
and  '62,"  and  chilled  the  very  marrow  of  their 
bones  with  the  ominous  prophecy  that  the 
present  gorging  of  the  streams  was  but  the 
forerunner  of  a  rising  of  the  waters  which 
should  make  the  famous  old-time  flood  of  the 
Sacramento  Valley  fade  into  nothingness. 

I  had  been  leisurely  retracing  my  steps  from 
the  mountains,  and  returning  by  the  ''Big  Tree" 
road  through  the  historic  town  of  Murphy's 
Camp — made  famous  by  Bret  Harte,  and 
interesting  to  me  because  I  had  there  spent 
several  of  the  years  of  my  childhood — arrived 
at  the  little  town  of  Vallecito,  where  I  intended 
to  inspect  some  placer  property. 

The  ardent,  coppery-red  ball  of  the  Cali- 
fornia sun  was  just  descending  behind  the  foot- 
hills to  westward  when  I  arrived  at  my  destina- 
tion, hence  there  was  nothing  to  do  save  to 
make  myself  as  comfortable  as  possible  at  the 
little  ramshackle  inn,  "The  Miner's  Rest," 
and  defer  all  thought  of  business  until  the 
morrow. 

Life  in  the  foothills  of  the  Sierras  may  be 
monotonous,  but  it  has  its  pleasant  features, 
not  the  least  of  which  was  the  fare  of  the  humble 
Miner's  Rest.     I  found  that  Mr.  Jim  Truesdell, 


268  CHIQUITA 

the  Inndlord,  had  not  boasted  when  he  said 
genially,  ''We  ain't  much  on  style  hereabouts, 
Mister,  but  you  kin  bet  your  bottom  dollar  our 
feed  is  just  as  good,  an'  just  as  plenty  as  it  is  at 
the  Frisco  Palace;  tho'  we  ain't  braggin'  none 
about  variety  on  our  meenu  kyards." 

Having  finished  my  supper,  I  Hghted  a  cigar 
and  strolled  out  upon  the  rude,  tumble-down 
veranda  of  the  Httle  inn.  Seating  myself  with 
my  feet  planted  upon  the  railing  and  a  book 
upon  my  lap,  I  proceeded  to  enjoy  my  smoke. 
Then — ^my  book  forgotten — I  fell  into  the  rev- 
ery  which  the  fragrant  smoke  wreaths  of  a  good 
cigar  and  the  glorious  flame  of  a  dying  sun  bring 
to  him  who  is  at  peace  with  himself  and  his 
surroundings. 

More  beautiful  sunsets  there  may  be  than 
those  of  my  native  heath,  but  I  have  never 
seen  but  one  that  could  in  any  way  compare 
with  them,  and  even  there,  in  a  harbor  of  far-off 
Guatemala,  the  conditions,  save  for  the  briUiant 
ocean  rim  below  which  the  sun  sank  to  sleep, 
were  much  the  same.  The  mountains  to  the 
eastward  of  Vallecito  recalled  the  Sierra  Madre, 
of  that  distant  alien  land.  There  were  the  same 
fleecy  clouds,  illumined  by  the  waning  fh-e  of 
the  God  of  Day,  reflecting  colors  that  sui-ely 


CHIQUITA  269 

would  have  been  the  despair  of  the  most  ambi- 
tious brush,  and  floating  with  soft  caress  over 
the  snow-capped  peaks  which,  Hke  grim  and 
watchful  sentinels,  walled  in  the  valley  where 
nestled  the  httle  town  There  was  just  breeze 
enough  blowing  to  give  a  keen  zest  to  the 
balm-laden  air  of  the  mountains — a  feature 
which  that  ever  to  be  remembered  scene  in 
the  Bay  of  Ocos  distinctly  lacked,  for  'twas  a 
miniature  hell  dovra  there,  night  or  day. 

''Save  for  the  weird  cry  of  some  mysterious 
night  bird,  who  ever  and  anon  called  his  mate, 
and  the  infrequent  whir  of  a  diminutive  species 
of  bat,  everything  was  as  quiet  as  a  blue  Sunday 
in  staid  old  New  England.  The  ''chug"  of  the 
pick,  the  clamorous  ring  of  the  shovel  and  the 
rattling  of  the  miner's  cradle  were  conspicuous- 
ly absent  in  the  valley  and  the  hills  and  ravines 
round  about.  So  still  was  the  Uttle  mining 
town,  that  a  giant  elk  who  was  sniffing  the  air 
in  a  spirit  of  curious  and  careful  investigation 
far  up  the  moimtain  side,  came  nearer  and  yet 
nearer,  tossing  his  head  with  its  burden  of  enor- 
mous horns  in  defiance  at  first,  and  then  stand- 
ing stock-still  as  if  amazed.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished his  tour  of  investigation,  he  turned  and 
stalked  majestically  away  down  the  side  of  a 


270  CHIQUITA 

rocky  gorge  that  would  scarcely  have  afforded 
safe  footing  for  a  cat.  He  glanced  back  several 
times  as  though  he  did  not  quite  understand  his 
undisputed  kingship,  and  then,  with  a  farewell 
beUigerent  toss  of  his  mighty  antlers,  plunged 
into  the  obscurity  of  the  beautiful  manzanita, 
and  scraggly  mesquite  and  chapparal  that 
fringed  the  steep  canyon  sides  of  the  awesome 
Sierras. 

As  the  elk  disappeared,  a  long,  sobbing,  ter- 
rifjdng  wail  was  wafted  from  amid  the  scrub 
firs  and  tall  bread  pines  still  higher  up  on  a  dis- 
tant mountain  side.  It  was  the  cougar's  warn- 
ing to  his  tawny  mate.  The  elk  was  not  king, 
nor  yet  was  the  hungry  panther,  for  somewhere 
amid  those  far-off  mountain  ravines  was  the 
lair  of  the  gTizzly,  fiercest  of  his  kind. 

The  last  red  glow  of  the  setting  sun  had  faded 
from  the  western  sky  and  the  chill  of  night  was 
fast  gathering,  yet  I  still  sat  there  upon  the  ver- 
anda, half  asleep,  but  breathing  in  deeply  the 
invigorating  fragrant  bahn  that  was  borne  to 
me  by  the  cool  evening  breeze  from  the  spicy 
mountain  firs  and  pines  and  giant  redwoods. 
As  I  dozed  my  cigar  fell  from  my  lips  and  bound- 
ed off  the  veranda  to  the  ground,  where  it  lay 
glowering  reproachfully  at  me  for  a  few  mo- 


CHIQUITA  271 

ments  before  it  finally  went  out  altogether, 
smothering  in  its  own  ashes  and  spitefully  emit- 
ting, as  a  farewell  indignant  protest,  the  acrid 
odor  of  dead  tobacco. 

"Buenos  tardes,  Sefior  Cahallero.^^ 

I  came  to  myself  with  a  start,  and  turned  in 
the  direction  of  the  voice. 

At  the  foot  of  the  two  or  three  steps  that  led 
to  the  veranda  where  I  was  sitting,  stood  a  man 
and  a  woman — evidently  Mexicans — as  queer  a 
couple  as  it  had  ever  been  my  fortune  to  meet. 
The  man  was  apparently  about  sixty  years  of 
age,  taller  than  most  of  his  race,  still  stalwart 
and  erect  and,  despite  his  years,  a  handsome 
fellow  of  his  type.  He  carried  his  head  as 
haughtily  as  might  an  hidalgo  of  Old  Spain. 
His  picturesque  costume  was  bedecked  with 
finery  which,  faded  though  it  was,  indicated 
the  garb  of  a  Mexican  of  the  higher  caste.  His 
swarthy  face  was  shaded  by  an  ornate  sombrero, 
from  beneath  which  flashed  piercing,  fiery  eyes 
that  would  have  compelled  attention  anywhere. 
A  broad  silk  sash  encircled  his  waist,  and  artis- 
tically draped  over  his  shoulder  were  the  grace- 
ful folds  of  a  bright,  many-colored  serape. 
Through  the  sash  was  thrust  the  inevitable 
murderous-looking  cuchillo — the  symbol  of  his 


272  CHIQUITA 

individuality  and  a  declaration  of  that  belief 
in  personal  responsibility  which  is  as  insepar- 
able from  the  hot  Latin  blood  as  though  it  were 
dependent  upon  a  special  corpuscle. 

UnUke  her  companion,  the  woman  presented 
a  figure  that  was  pathetic,  rather  than  pictur- 
esque, although  she  too  showed  in  her  apparel 
something  of  the  fondness  for  color  and  tinsel 
that  characterizes  her  race.  She  appeared  to 
be  old — much  older  than  her  companion,  al- 
though appearances  are  very  deceptive  in  judg- 
ing the  age  of  w^omen  of  the  Latin  races.  They 
mature  young,  and  their  youth  and  beauty 
begin  to  fade  very  early,  so  early  that  at  a  peri- 
od when  the  woman  of  fair  Anglo-Saxon  blood 
is  yet  in  her  prime,  her  darker-skinned  sister 
is  already  old  and  wrinkled. 

The  old  crone — for  so  she  appeared — was  bent 
and  withered,  with  hair  as  white  as  human  hair 
ever  becomes.  Her  face  was  fearfully  disfigured 
by  smallpox,  that  loathsome  disease  which  had 
become  a  curse  to  her  people.  As  she  raised  her 
eyes  towards  me,  I  noted  with  something  of  a 
shock  that  she  was  totally  blind — the  dull  and 
expressionless  eyes  showed  that  only  too  plainly. 
Used  as  I  was  to  the  sight  of  human  misery  and 


CHIQUITA  273 

helplessness,  there  was  something  in  the  poor 
old  woman's  face  that  impressed  me. 

''Buenos  tardes,  Senor  Caballero,"  again  said 
the  man,  with  a  polite  bow.  "Comprende 
V.  Espanolf 

"Muy  poco — very   Httle — Senor,^^   I   repUed. 

"Then  will  I  speak  the  tongue  of  the  Ameri- 
canos, though  I  speak  it  not  well,"  he  continued. 
"1  hope  el  Senor  he  is  not  disturb  in  his  smoke 
of  the  evening  by  the  speaking  to  him." 

''Not  at  all,  Sir,"  I  answered  poHtely. 

"Then,  maybe,  it  is  not  too  free  to  ask  el 
Senor  if  he  will  have  the  fortune  told." 

"Oh,  you  are  a  fortune  teller,  eh?" 

The  Mexican  raised  his  head  proudly. 

''No7i,  Senor,  it  is  not  I  that  have  fortunes  to 
tell.  Ramon  Pasquale  never  has  told  yet  the 
fortune.  He  does  not  know.  It  is  my  Chiquita 
here,  she  the  great  fortunes  can  tell.  She  can 
see,  oh,  so  far!  She  sees  not  as  el  Senor  sees, 
with  the  eyes  of  the  head; — it  is  with  the  eyes 
of  the  mind,  with  the  eyes  of  the  soul  that 
Chiquita  sees.  She  knows  how  the  past  to  tell. 
Aye,  and  the  future  too,  she  knows.  She  the 
stars  can  read — she  reads  them  true.  The 
grave  to  her  is  not  closed.  Fate  is  to  the  eyes  of 
her  mind  as  is  to  el  Senor' s  eyes  the  open  book 


274  CHIQUITA 

upon  his  knee.  She  is  wonderful,  my  Chiquita! 
Is  it  not  so,  cara  miaf  There  was  a  tender 
note  in  his  voice  as  he  addresed  his  aged  com- 
panion. 

"It  is  so,  my  Ramon,"  repHed  the  woman,  in 
a  voice  that  fairly  startled  me,  so  clear  and 
youthful  did  it  seem.  'It  is  so,  and  if  the  great 
Senor  will  allow  me  it  to  tell,  I  will  to  him  read 
the  story  of  the  past  of  his  hfe,  and  for  him  open 
the  book  of  the  future,  that  he  may  know  what 
shall  come  to  him." 

My  expression  must  have  betrayed  the  interest 
I  felt,  for  the  Mexican  said  eagerly:  'To-night 
must  el  Senor  listen  to  Chiquita.  To-morrow 
she  will  be  gone,  and  it  too  late  wiU  be.  It  is 
not  dear,  Senor,  it  is  muy  harato — very  cheap; 
only  one  peso;  that  is  all.  And  so  wonderful, 
so  wonderful,  Senor  \  There  is  none  so  wonder- 
ful as  Chiquita.  El  Senor  he  will  never  forget 
the  fortune  she  for  him  will  tell — and  only  one 
peso.^^ 

And  Chiquita  told  my  fortune,  and  evidently 
tried  to  give  me  good  measure,  for  the  stars  were 
out  and  the  moon  was  silvering  the  eastern  sky 
ere  she  had  finished. 

Granting  that  Ramon  was  sincere,  and  not 
merely  attending  to  business  in  his  enthusiastic 


CHIQUITA  275 

praises  of  Chiquita's  professional  skill,  he  and  I 
differed  somewhat  in  our  estimate  of  it.  There 
was  nothing  very  new  about  the  fortune  the  old 
woman  mapped  out  for  me.  It  had  the  same 
rose  color  as  many  others  I  had  heard.  There 
were  the  usual  platitudes  about  the  honors  I 
was  to  win,  and  the  riches  I  was  to  gain.  I 
w^ould  become  famous,  also,  and  was  destined 
to  marry  a  woman  for  whom  my  own  country 
surely  could  hold  no  place,  for,  according  to  the 
fortune  teller's  description,  she  was  to  be  a 
duchess,  no  less.  Of  course,  as  I  did  not  tell 
Chiquita  that  I  was  already  married,  I  could 
find  no  fault  with  the  bride  to  be,  especially  as 
she  was  of  the  blood  royal. 

But  Chiquita  was  eloquent,  in  her  broken 
way,  and  both  she  and  her  picturesque  compan- 
ion were  so  interesting  that  I  did  not  begTudge 
the  dollar  which,  after  all,  she  had  fairly  earned. 
To  hear  pleasant  things  about  one's  self  is 
always  worth  the  price — and  there  always  is  a 
price,  although  we  are  not  often  wise  enough  to 
know  it. 

There  was  that  in  the  poise  of  Chiquita's 
white  head  and  the  sweetly  modulated  tones  of 
her  voice  which,  with  her  small,  slender,  beauti- 
fully formed  brown  hands  suggested  that  her 


276  CHIQUITA 

birth  and  breeding  were  more  aristocratic  than 
is  usual  with  itinerant  vendors  of  fortunes. 

I  was  curious  to  know  more  of  the  interesting 
couple,  but  had  been  riding  hard  that  day,  and 
the  prospect  of  a  good  bed  was  just  then  more 
attractive  than  character  study  with  a  pair  of 
strolhng  Mexicans  for  subjects.  The  seance  of 
fortune  telling  ended,  I  was  glad  to  pay  for  my 
entertainment  and  say  good-night  to  them. 

''Gracias,  Senor — huenos  noches.  We  are  much 
thankful,  my  Chiquita  and  I.  Is  it  not  so,  my 
Chiquita?" 

The  old  woman  bowed  gracefully,  and  echoed 
her  companion's  expression  of  appreciation  and 
farewell  greeting.  As  I  turned  to  enter  the  inn 
the  landlord  met  me  at  the  door,  saying: 

"Your  room's  all  ready,  Mister.  It's  been 
ready  for  more'n  an  hour.  I  seen  you  was  havin' 
your  fortune  told,  an'  as  the  old  gal  alius  dishes 
up  as  good  ones  for  the  money  as  can  be  had  in 
these  diggin's,  I  thought  I  wouldn't  disturb  ye. 
I  hope  ye  got  all  the  trimmin's  that  was  comin' 
to  ye,"  and  he  grinned  expansively. 

*'I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  the  for  time  the 
old  woman  told  me,"  I  rephed  smilingly;  "it 
was  doubtless  better  than  I  deserve,  and  I  sus- 
pect much  better  than  I  will  ever  experience. 


CHIQUITA  277 

I  was  far  more  interested  in  Chiquita  and 
Ramon,  her  companion,  than  in  her  skill  as  a 
fortune  teller.  I  am  curious  to  learn  some- 
thing of  them.  Do  you  know  anything  about 
them?" 

"Why,  no,  leastwise  not  enough  to  hurt.  The 
old  gal  is  some  sort  of  a  g)T)sy,  I  reckon.  She 
sure  is,  if  there's  any  Mexican  gypsies.  The 
feller  with  her  is  a  Greaser  all  right,  though  I'll 
allow  I  don't  know  nothin'  else  agin  him.  They 
blew  in  on  this  town  about  ten  years  ago,  an' 
have  been  comin'  here  off  an'  on,  workin'  the 
fortune  tellin'  racket  ever  since." 

"Well,  they  are  not  likely  to  get  rich  at  it,"  I 
said.  Vallecito  does  not  seem  to  be  a  very  prof- 
itable field  for  their  particular  specialty." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  the 
genial  Jim.  "Of  course,  this  town  ain't  what 
she  was  in  the  early  days,"  and  the  old  "forty- 
niner"  sighed  retrospecively.  "But  it  ain't  so 
bad,  after  all.  It's  a  little  out  o'  season  now, 
but  when  strangers  come  through  here  on  the 
way  to  Mariposa  and  Calaveras,  I  reckon  it's 
pretty  good  pickin'  for  the  old  woman  and  her 
pal.  The  Big  Trees  and  the  Calaveras  caves 
draw  pretty  good  crowds,  and  they're  the  kind 
of  people  that's  got  mighty  tender  feet,  too — an' 


278  CHIQUITA 

some  money.     I  sort  o'  like  them  kind,  myself." 

'Is  anything  known  of  the  history  of  those 
Mexicans  before  they  came  to  this  part  of  the 
country?"     I  asked. 

''No;  we  folks  don't  ask  questions  much,  an' 
Ramon,  the  Greaser,  aint  one  of  the  talkative 
kind.  Anyhow,  he  don't  talk  much  to  us.  I 
reckon  though,  that  some  o'  them  tourists  knows 
how  to  make  him  loosen  up.  There  was  a  fel- 
ler here  once  that  writ  stories  for  magazines  an' 
such,  who  told  me  that  Ramon  had  spun  him 
some  pretty  wild  yarns,  an'  I  believe  he  writ 
some  of  'em  down  in  a  book." 

"Ah,  then  a  story  has  been  published  about 
them." 

"Well,  I  don't  reckon  it  was  published  none," 
rephed  mine  host,  facetiously.  "That  writer 
feller  tumbled  off  the  footbridge  into  the  Tuo- 
lumne Canyon  about  a  week  after  that,  an'  I'm 
afraid  he  didn't  go  to  press. 

"But  I'm  runnin'  a  hotel,  such  as  it  is,  an' 
hain't  got  much  time  for  fairy  tales,  an'  still 
less  time  for  Greasers,  which  the  same  I  don't 
like  nohow." 

Needless  to  say,  my  conversation  with  the 
landlord  had  only  served  to  increase  my  cu- 
riosity.   As  I  bade  him  good-night  I  resolved 


CHIQUITA  ,  279 

to  seek  for  Chiquita  and  Ramon  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  had  scented  a  romance;  which  meant 
with  me  that  I  must  take  the  trail  and  run  the 
story  to  earth. 

I  found  the  fortune  teller  and  her  companion 
in  the  cabin  of  a  Mexican  sheep  herder,  among 
the  hills  a  little  way  out  of  town.  This  is  the 
story  that  Ramon  told  me : 

''Our  stor}^,  Senor?  It  is  not  much,  our 
story.  What  you  have  seen,  that  is  all  it  is  to 
tell.  It  is  the  story  of  Chiquita,  my  Chiquita, 
there,  that  you  should  hear.  I,  Ramon,  know 
the  story.  Alas!  too  well  do  I  know  it.  Lis- 
ten, Senor: 

''Many,  many  years  ago,  in  the  days  when 
los  Americanos — the  miner os — were  by  hundreds 
here  in  Calaveras  and  in  the  vaUey  of  Tuolumne, 
a  great  hacienda  there  was,  and  a  great  mansion, 
near  Sonora,  just  by  the  road  that  now  runs  to 
Vallecito.  When  the  Senor  rides  to  Sonora,  at 
the  right  hand  of  the  road  will  he  yet  see  the 
stones  of  the  crumbling  walls  of  the  house.  He 
cannot  mistake,  for  all  along  the  road  is  there 
none  other  like  it. 

"Don  Pedro  Salvia,  the  name  was,  of  the 
owner  of  the  hacienda.     Many  broad  acres  of 


280  CHIQUITA 

the  hills  and  valleys  were  his,  and  over  those 
acres  by  the  thousands  grazed  his  cattle.  All 
the  land  it  was  black  with  his  droves  of  the 
long-horned  breed  of  la  Espana.  Horses  too, 
there  were  in  vast  herds.  Never  were  seen 
mustangs  so  many  and  so  fine  and  swift  as  those 
of  Don  Pedro.  Many  cattle  and  many  mustangs 
mean  always  much  money,  and  Don  Pedro  was 
muy  rico — of  great  riches. 

'The  old  Don  was  proud,  oh,  so  proud,  but 
not  his  great  wealth  was  it  that  made  him  so. 
Of  a  famous  and  haughty  race  he  was.  None 
older  was  there  in  all  Castile.  His  blood  was 
what  the  Americano  would  call — ^what  is  it 
that  they  call  the  blood  of  the  grandee?  Ah, 
I  remember— he  was  of  the  blue  blood.  None 
was  there  in  all  Spain  so  blue. 

"In  Sonora  for  many  years  had  the  Salvias 
been — so  long  that  no  Americano  could  remem- 
ber when  the  family  was  not  there.  Before 
Don  Pedro  came,  many,  many  generations  of 
the  Salvias  had  Hved  and  died  on  the  rancheria. 

"Fate  had  laid  its  hand  heavy  on  the  blood 
of  the  Salvias,  for  the  Don  was  of  his  race  the 
last  man.  He  had  one  child  only — si  daughter. 
La  Dona  Teresa,  her  poor  mother,  had  died 
when  she  came — the  little  one. 


CHIQUITA  281 

"Chiquita  was  of  Don  Pedro's  life  the  sun. 
He  worshipped  her  even  as  worships  the  good 
CathoUc  the  Madonna.  Never  was  maiden  so 
beautiful  or  so  graceful.  Ah!  Hke  the  deer 
was  she  graceful.  And  she  was  no  plant  of  the 
hot  house.  There  was  none  among  all  the 
herders  who  could  throw  the  riata  as  could 
Chiquita.  Of  all  the  caballeros  of  Sonora  there 
was  not  one  who  in  riding  could  match  her. 
There  was  no  mustang  so  wild  that  she  could 
not  tame  him.  And  shoot!  Not  in  all  Cah- 
fornia  was  there  a  better  shot  with  rifle  or 
pistol  than  Chiquita. 

"And,  Senor,  she  was  not  afraid — as  any 
caballero  she  was  brave.  As  free  and  fearless 
as  the  young  eagle  she  came  and  went  among 
the  rough  hill  people.  Once  only,  was  any  man 
so  bold  as  to  give  to  Chiquita  the  insult.  Ah! 
Senor,  beautiful  to  see  it  must  have  been! 
Almost  dead  they  found  Leon  Bodigo,  the  half 
breed.  All  of  his  blood  it  had  run  out.  The 
maiden's  Uttle  cuchillo,  it  was  sharp,  Senor. 

"No  companions  had  Chiquita,  save  the 
birds  and  flowers,  and  the  trees  and  brooks  of 
the  mountains, — and  Juan,  her  cousin.  But 
she  was  happy  and  had  never  the — ^what  you 
call  it,  eh?    Ah,  I  have  it,  care.     She  had  not 


282  CHIQUITA 

the  care.  She  had  never  sorrow,  and  never  had 
tears  wet  her  beautiful  eyes  since  she  was  small 
— ^so  very  small. 

"Juan  it  was,  who  was  of  Chiquita  the  slave. 
He  was  not  so  old  as  Chiquita.  He  was  a  lad 
only — fourteen  years  of  the  age  he  was — but 
there  was  no  cahallero  more  strong  of  heart 
than  he.  Happy  also,  was  Juan,  for  loved  he 
not  Chiquita?  Yes,  with  all  his  soul  he  loved 
her.  A  thing  wonderful  to  see  was  the  love  of 
Juan  for  the  beautiful  Chiquita! 

''When  the  vaqueros  made  of  the  cattle  the 
round  up,  with  them  rode  Chiquita,  and  beside 
her  was  Juan — always  Juan.  You  should  have 
seen  the  riding,  and  of  the  herds  the  gathering, 
Senor.  Nothing  so  grand  is  there  now  anywhere 
to  see. 

''Many  times  when  the  throw  was  made  for 
the  branding,  and  the  fierce  long-horn  to  the 
ground  was  brought,  it  was  with  the  riata  of 
Chiquita  And,  Juan,  too,  made  his  throw  for 
the  iron.  The  count  of  Chiquita  and  Juan  in 
the  throwing  of  the  cattle  the  best  vaquero 
could  not  beat. 

"But  Paradise  it  is  never  to  last.  Dark  days 
there  came  to  the  rancheria  of  the    Salvias. 


CHIQUITA  283 

It  was  over  again  the  story  of — Eden,  yes? 
In  the  beautiful  garden  the  serpent? 

''One  day  to  the  rancheria  came  un  Ingles,  an 
EngHsh  Milord.  A  letter  he  bring  from  a 
friend  of  Don  Pedro's,  asking  that  he  be  made 
Y\'elcome.  That  Enghshman  he  was  sick,  very 
sick,  Senor.  Like  a  man  who  io  starved  he 
looked.  Diosl  he  was  white.  He  was  so  thin 
that  when  the  wind  blew  he  trembled  Hke  a 
leaf  that  on  the  tree  is  dead,  and  poof!  poof! — 
how  he  had  the  cough!  He  could  not  sit  the 
mustang,  and  the  vaqueros  they  smile  at  him 
when  he  ride.  So  weak  he  was  that  on  the 
ground  he  fall  off — bang! 

''But  el  Medico  he  have  said  that  the  English- 
man he  must  ride,  ride,  ride — or  with  the  lungs 
he  will  surely  die.  And  so  he  try  and  tiy,  for 
he  had  the  pluck,  that  Enghshman.  By  and 
by,  he  gTow  strong — strong  hke  the  buU.  The 
air  of  the  hills  is  hke  the  old  wine  of  Oporto  and 
makes  the  great  mu'acles.  Carrambal — the  air 
it  did  not  know. 

"WTien  that  Enghshman  he  was  strong  to 
ride  steady,  Juan  was  happy  no  more.  \Vhere- 
ever  Chiquita  was,  there  was  Milord.  He 
learned  to  throw  the  riata  and  ^dth  the  vaqueros 
to  ride  the  herd.     They  ride  not  badly,  these 


284  CHIQUITA 

cursed  Ingles.  This  fellow  he  ride  bob!  bob! 
bob !  up  and  down,  always  up  and  down — but 
he  ride  straight  Hke  the  soldier. 

''How  Juan  hated  that  English  IVIilord! 
Little  fool,  that  Juan!  He  did  not  know^  that 
it  was  Juan  that  was  too  many  in  the  riding  of 
pleasure.  Ah!  he  was  the  great  fool — ^he 
thought  it  was  the  Englishman!  For  many 
days  he  thought  this  fooHsh  thought.  So  it 
was,  until  one  day  Chiquita  sent  him  away  on  a 
mission  that  was  useless.  When  he  came  back, 
he  saw  her  riding  far  away  from  the  hacienda, 
far  away  in  the  hills.  The  Enghshman  he  was 
beside  her ;  so  close  to  her  he  was  that  together 
their  knees  were  touching.  And  then  Juan 
knew!  And  then,  so  quick,  like  the  Hghtning, 
grew  he  from  boy  to  man — and  such  a  man! 

"It  runs  hot,  the  blood  of  my  people,  Senor, 
and  in  the  veins  of  none  of  his  race  had  it  ever 
run  hotter  than  it  ran  that  day  in  the  veins  of 
Juan.  And  bitter  it  ran,  and  everything  it 
was  red  to  the  eyes  of  Juan.  One  thing  only 
was  there  to  do ;  the  Englishman  must  die,  and 
Juan  he  must  kill  him! 

"The  next  day  again  into  the  hills  rode 
Chiquita.  Milord,  the  cursed  Milord,  was  as 
always   beside   her.    Juan   saw   them  at   the 


CHIQUITA  285 

corral  in  the  starting,  and  taking  his  rifle  he 
crawl,  like  una  serpiente,  on  the  belly  through  a 
gulch  between  the  hills  that  open  on  the  road  at 
the  turning.  In  the  chapparal  he  crouched 
and  waited,  like  the  panther  that  is  hungry. 
Nothing  could  save  Milord,  for  when  did  Juan 
ever  miss  the  mark? 

''But  Chiquita  made  with  the  Enghshman  a 
race,  and  so  swift  was  her  mustang  that  far 
behind  she  left  him.  To  the  turn  of  the  road 
she  came  alone.  Juan  heard  the  beating  of  the 
hoofs  and  thought  it  was  time.  He  stood 
straight  up  behind  the  brush  of  the  greasewood 
and  manzanita,  with  his  rifle  at  his  shoulder — 
so !    Chiquita  saw,  and  all  at  once  she  knew. 

"So  sudden  it  all  was,  and  she  ride  so  quick, 
that  Juan  was  close — oh,  so  close — to  killing 
Chiquita  before  he  saw  who  was  the  rider. 

"Straight  at  him  the  mustang  she  rode,  and 
then  she  stopped  and  looked  into  his  eyes;  oh, 
so  sad  she  looked.  For  a  long  time  she  looked 
at  him.  He  saw  that  she  knew,  and  it  was  not 
the  eyes  of  Chiquita  that  fell — it  was  Juan's. 
And  then  she  spoke: 

"  'It  is  not  for  me,  that  my  cousin  he  waits. 
In  his  ej^es  is  there  murder,  but  it  is  not  for  his 
Chiquita  that  he  sees  red.     Is  my  cousin  Juan 


286  CHIQUITA 

a  coward,  that  he  lies  in  ambush?  Does  he 
love  me  no  longer?  Is  it  that  he  would  kill  one 
whom  I  love?  Go,  and  go  quickly,  that  he  may 
not  see  you — that  he  may  not  know  that  my 
little  Juan  has  put  upon  Chiquita  and  the  house 
of  Salvia  the  great  shame.' 

''The  Enghshman  he  was  not  come  to  the  bend 
of  the  road  before  Juan  was  gone.  And  Juan 
came  not  back  to  the  hacienda  for  the  many, 
many  days.  No  one  knew  where  he  had  gone, 
but  he  w^as  not  far.  He  was  near  in  the  moim- 
tains;  hke  the  cougar  and  the  grizzly  he  was 
hiding.  Far  from  Chiquita  he  could  not  go. 
Many  the  times  she  have  passed  him  as  he 
crouched  in  the  mesquite,  but  she  did  not  know. 
Always  was  her  Enghshman  to  ride  beside  her. 
Three,  four,  ten  times  could  Juan  have  killed 
him,  but  would  not !  Was  it  not  that  Chiquita 
had  said  she  have  come  to  love  the  IVIilord? 
And  she  have  said,  too,  that  it  is  coward  to 
shoot  from  the  ambush.  Juan  loved  Chiquita; 
her  heart  he  would  not  make  to  ache,  and, 
Senor,  he  was  not  coward,  that  little  Juan ! 

"Every  day,  for  many,  many  days,  Juan, 
from  his  hiding  could  see  of  the  rides,  the  start- 
ing— Chiquita  and  the  Englishman — always  the 
cursed  Ingles!     Not  always  would  they  ride  near 


'is  my  cousin  JUAN  A  COWARD,   THAT  HE   LIES   IN   AMBUSH?" 


CHIQUITA  287 

Juan.  One  way  sometimes,  then  next  day  an- 
other way,  but  every  day  some  way  they  ride — 
Chiquita  and  her  Enghshman.  And  they  ride 
so  close,  so  very  close — so  close  together  they 
ride  that  Juan  sometimes  forgets  almost,  and 
then  he  looks  at  the  rifle.  So  hungry  he  looks 
at  it,  and  how  the  itching  it  is  in  the  fingers !  Al- 
ways is  it  loaded,  the  rifle,  and  it  carries  far  and 
true  the  bullet  when  Juan  fires  it.  He  is  fine 
shot,  that  little  Juan. 

*'One  day  Chiquita  and  the  Englishman  they 
not  ride  together.  The  Milord  is  alone.  Next 
day  is  he  alone  once  more.  He  does  not  ride 
the  way  of  Juan.  That  is  good,  for  Chiquita  is 
not  there,  and  to  remember  is  hard  when  she  is 
not  there,  and  the  gun  it  is  loaded. 

Two  days,  then,  the  Englishman  he  ride  alone. 
The  second  day,  in  the  evening,  Juan  sees  the 
vaqueros  and  the  women  run,  and  run — they  run 
about  like  jack-rabbits.  And  then  they  gather 
together  and  talk,  talk,  always  they  talk;  Hke 
el  low,  the  parrot,  they  talk.  There  is  no  work. 
For  two  days,  Juan  has  not  seen  Don  Pedro. 

"The  third  day,  in  the  morning,  everything  is 
like  dead  at  the  hacienda.  No  one  is  stir,  only 
sometimes  the  dogs  they  bark.  By  and  by 
comes  the  Englishman  out  of  the  house,  springs 


288  CHIQUITA 

quick  on  his  mustang  and  like  the  wind  he  is 
off.  He  rides  close  by  Juan,  so  near  that  the 
boy  he  could  have  plucked  him  off  his  horse. 
And  the  EngUshman's  face  it  was  white — ^w^hite 
just  like  a  corpse.  He  ride  hke  he  is  scared — 
Hke  el  diablo — hke  the  devil  he  ride ! 

"Juan,  too,  was  scared.  He  was  sure  some- 
thing go  bad,  very  bad,  at  the  hacienda.  And 
so  he  is  go  down  to  the  place  and  look  all  around, 
but  he  is  see  nobody — they  are  all  gone,  the 
vaqueros  and  the  women. 

''And  then  Juan  go  into  the  house.  There  he 
find  Don  Pedro  dying  with  la  viruela,  the  small- 
pox, Senorl  with  nobody  to  care  for  him  but 
Chiquita,  and  one  old  w^oman  that  was  call  for 
the  joke.  La  Bonita,  the  beautiful,  because  she 
have  the  pest  long  before  and  was,  oh,  so  ugly ! 
Ah!  the  face  of  Don  Pedro!  It  was  horrible;  it 
made  Juan  to  grow  sick ! 

''But  Juan  stay  and  help  the  women.  At 
first  the  boy  he  was  afraid,  but  he  loved  Chiqui- 
ta, and  soon  the  pest  he  forgot. 

"Well,  Senor,  soon  and  sure  the  end  was.  In 
five  days  Don  Pedro  he  was  dead.  And  Juan 
and  La  Bonita  they  bury  him,  with  nobody  to 
help.  Chiquita  her  heart  is  break.  She  cry 
and  cry  and  cry,  but  Juan  he  knew  it  was  not 


CHIQUITA  289 

all  for  that  her  father  was  dead.  She  would  not 
tell  Juan,  but  he  knew.  The  coward  Ingles  that 
have  run  away — for  him  also  were  the  tears. 

"A  few  days  more  and  Chiquita  too,  was  take 
sick  with  the  pest.  This  time  it  was  not  the 
black  smallpox — but  it  is  bad,  very  bad.  Jesu! 
How  the  old  woman  and  the  boy  they  make  the 
fight  for  Chiquita!  And  Chiquita  she  is  not 
die — she  get  well.  Her  face  it  is  scar — so  bad 
is  it  scar  that  La  Bonita  herself  is  not  less  beau- 
tiful than  the  poor  Chiquita.  And  Juan  he  is 
afraid — for  some  day  she  will  know,  so  he  take 
away  from  the  house  all  the  bright  things  and 
the  mirrors  and  tell  La  Bonita  the  young  Senor- 
ita  must  not  know.  And  the  old  woman  she 
understand,  ah!  too  well  she  understand.  She 
remember  the  sorrow  of  the  day  she  herself  first 
saw  the  scar  of  her  face,  and  she  is  careful  of 
Chiquita. 

"When  Chiquita  she  could  once  more  walk 
about  and  breathe  the  sweet  air  of  the  pmes, 
everj^where  with  her  went  Juan.  Once  again 
it  was  Juan — always  Juan. 

''When  Chiquita  she  grew  strong  again,  as 
before  the  pest  came,  the  poor  boy  he  might 
have  been  happy,  but  for  one  thing — tears, 
tears,  always  tears  in  the  eyes  of  Chiquita !    And 


290  CHIQUITA 

Juan  he  knew  they  were  not  all  for  Don  Pedro. 
Always  in  her  mind  that  cursed  Milord!  Her 
heart  it  still  ache  for  the  coward  Englishman. 

''Long  walks  Chiquita  and  Juan  they  take 
together.  She  could  again  ride,  but  never  did 
she  ask  for  her  mustang.  She  for  riding  cared 
no  more.  Always,  you  see,  she  is  think  of  the 
Englishman.  And  Juan,  he  know  why  she 
v/ished  not  to  ride,  and  his  heart  it  was  lead. 

''But  Juan  was  kind,  so  very  kind  to  Chiquita. 
Always  he  loved  her,  and  the  scar  of  the  face 
made  to  him  no  difference.  But  every  day 
does  he  fear  the  time  when  she  must  know. 
That  time,  so  much  does  he  fear  it,  that  the 
brooks  he  would  not  let  her  cross;  he  was 
afraid  that  in  them  her  face  she  might  see; 
yet  still  did  he  know  sure  that  sometime  she 
must  see  it. 

"By  and  by  the  people  is  come  back  to  the 
rancheria,  and  Juan  he  is  do  the  best  he  can  to 
take  care  of  the  place,  and  the  cattle  and  the 
horses.  For  a  httle  while  things  they  go  along 
like  before  the  pest  it  have  kill  Don  Pedro. 

"One  day  Juan  he  go  into  the  hills  for  the 
round  up,  and  for  two  days  he  come  not  back. 
Before  he  go  he  tell  La  Bonita  to  keep  good 
watch  of  the  poor  Chiquita,  but  all  the  same  he  is 


CHIQUITA  291 

afraid.  All  the  time  of  the  riding  after  the  cat- 
tle he  is  afraid  it  goes  not  well  with  Chiquita. 

''When  Juan  he  is  get  back  from  the  round  up, 
the  great  trouble  it  have  come.  Chiquita  she  is 
mad — she  have  gone  crazy,  Sefior,  and  she  does 
not  know  anything — not  anybody  does  she 
know! 

'Trom  La  Bonita  Juan  hears  the  story.  The 
Englishman  he  has  come  back  to  see  what  is 
happen  at  the  hacienda.  Chiquita  is  so  glad  she 
almost  die  with  the  gladness,  but  el  Ingles,  he  is 
see  her  poor  face  with  all  the  scar,  and  he  is 
look,  'Ugh !'  He  say  nothing,  but  he  look  the 
'Ugh!' 

"La  Bonita  she  hear  the  Englishman  tell  Chi- 
quita he  must  say  adios — ^for  the  last  time  he 
must  say  it.  She  cry,  and  cry,  and  cry,  like  the 
heart  it  is  to  break,  and  she  hold  tight  to  the 
coat  of  Milord.  And  then  he  push  her  away 
hard,  so!  and  tell  her  about  the  scar  on  her 
face,  and  she  not  understand — she  not  believe. 
So  he  take  from  his  pocket  el  espejo,  the  looking- 
glass,  and  hold  it  before  Chiquita ! 

"La  Bonita  she  hear  the  great  scream  and  run 
quick  to  Chiquita.  She  find  her  on  the  floor 
hke  one  who  is  dead.  The  EngUshman  he  is  not 
there — ^he  is  gone,  but  on  the  floor  is  the  devil 


292  CHIQUITA 

looking-glass.  La  Bonita  made  the  curse,  and 
crush  the  glass  into  the  thousand  pieces,  so !  If 
the  Englishman  he  had  not  gone  she  sure  would 
have  kill  him,  that  old  woman!  She  with  the 
poniard  could  aim  true,  that  Bonita,  and  for 
the  blood  of  Milord  was  she  thirsty. 

^'When  he  have  the  work  to  do,  el  Mexicano 
make  not  the  hurry,  but  when  he  must  kill  his 
enemy,  Senor,  then  does  he  never  say  manana — 
the  to-morrow.   To-day  is  the  time  he  must  kill. 

*^Juan  stayed  not  long  at  the  hacienda.  He 
leave  Chiquita  with  the  old  woman,  and  saddle 
his  mustang  and  ride — swift  as  the  bird  flies, 
rode  Juan.  The  vaqueros  they  tell  him  the 
Enghshman  he  have  ride  through  Sonora,  and 
so  Juan  he  go  that  way. 

''Does  el  Senor  know  where  is  the  ferry  on  the 
Stanislaus?" 

''Yes,"  I  said,  "I  know  the  place  well." 

"Then,  the  Senor  he  will  remember  that  the 
mountains  are  at  the  ferry  high,  very  high  and 
steep  Hke  the  wall.  The  Stanislaus  in  the 
spring  is  so  swift  that  in  it  a  man  could  not  Uve 
one  second.  The  rocks,  ah!  Senor,  the  rocks  in 
the  canyon  of  the  Stanislaus  they  are  plenty, 
and  they  are  sharp  and  cruel. 

"It  was  not  then  as  now.     There  was  no 


CHIQUITA  293 

ferry,  and  one  must  cross  by  a  foot-bridge.  The 
freshet  of  the  spring-time  it  had  washed  the 
bridge  away.  Very  high  was  then  the  Stanis- 
laus! When  the  foot-bridge  it  was  go,  one 
must  wait,  and  wait,  and  wait — he  must  wait 
for  the  going  do^vTi  of  the  water  and  for  the 
miner  OS  a  new  bridge  to  build. 

"In  the  cabin  of  a  minero  away  up  on  the 
mountain  side  the  EngUshman  was  wait  for 
the  water  to  go  doTvn  and  the  bridge  to  be 
built.    Here  it  was  that  Juan  find  him. 

"He  could  fight,  could  that  cursed  Ingles, 
and  he  was  so  strong  that  in  his  hands  only  a 
child  was  that  little  Juan!  But  the  boy  he 
have  the  courage,  and  the  right — and,  Senor, 
he  have  the  poniard.  It  is  the  poniard  that 
makes  the  strength  as  nothing. 

''In  the  cabin  of  the  minero  the  fight  began, 
and  so  weak  was  Juan  in  the  hands  of  el  Ingles 
that  he  was  by  him  push  through  the  door  and 
to  the  edge  of  the  canyon.  It  is  very  deep, 
that  canj^on,  and  to  the  bottom  a  very  long  way, 
and  Juan  he  know  what  happen  if  he  is  not 
quick  and  sure. 

"The  wrist  of  Juan  it  is  not  strong,  and  his 
enemy  he  hold  it  tight  in  his  hand,  so!  But, 
when  the  Englishman  he  take  the  boy  around 


294  CHIQUITA 

the  waist  for  throw  him  over  the  side  of  the 
canyon,  his  foot  it  make  the  slip  and  he  fall 
back !    As  he  fall  he  let  go  the  wrist  of  Juan ! 

'^Ah!  now  for  Milord  is  there  no  more  chance! 
He  must  sure  die !  Quick,  hke  the  rattlesnake, 
struck  the  boy !  One !  Tw^o !  Three ! — five  times 
he  bury  the  knife  in  the  Englishman! 

"And  when  the  Englishman  fall  limp  on  the 
ground,  Juan  is  cover  thick  with  the  hot  red 
blood.  It  have  spurt,  and  spurt — all  over  him 
it  have  spurt! 

'The  Englishman  he  is  not  yet  so  dead  that 
he  does  not  understand  when  Juan  say:  'My 
Chiquita,  she  have  send  her  love  to  the  Milord 
who  was  so  kind  as  to  show  to  her  in  the  looking- 
glass  her  face.' 

"And  then  Juan  laugh  in  the  man's  face  as 
he  die. 

"When  the  EngUshman  he  was  no  more,  Juan 
roll  and  roll  him  to  the  edge  of  the  canyon.  He 
was  not  strong  for  the  lift,  but  he  could  make 
the  push  and  the  roll  of  the  body.  When  the 
body  was  at  the  edge,  Juan  make  one  grand 
push  and  crash!  over  the  Englishman  go! 

"Perhaps  el  Senor  he  not  comprende — he 
have  not  the  hot  blood  of  un  Espafiol.     But, 


CHIQUITA  295 

maybe,  he  too  have  enemies,  and  knows  the  hate, 
and  the  feehngs  of  Juan  can  understand. 

"Never  was  music  so  sweet  to  the  ear  of  that 
Httle  Juan,  as  the  sound  of  the  dead  Enghshman 
making  the  fall.  Every  time  the  body  it 
strike  the  rocks,  it  bound  off  like  the  ball,  and 
spatter  much  blood!  Very  beautiful  to  the 
eyes  of  Juan  was  the  red  trail  of  the  body  on  the 
canyon  side. 

"When  the  body  of  Milord  reach  the  bottom, 
he  look  no  more  like  a  man — he  is  like  he  is 
blown  to  the  mince-meat  by  the  blast  of  powder. 
He  fall  into  the  Stanislaus  in  many  pieces, 
splash !  splash !  and  when  Juan  saw  this,  he  was 
happy — Diosl  for  the  one  minute  he  forget. 

"Of  the  story  of  Chiquita  there  is  not  much 
more  to  tell,  Senor.  When  Juan  was  get  back 
to  the  hacienda,  she  was  still  not  know  anybody. 
El  Medico  say  she  have  of  the  brain  a  bad 
sickness.  She  live,  but  she  no  more  can  see — 
she  is  bhnd! 

"And  never  has  Chiquita  remembered — Gra- 
cios  h  Diosl 

"Not  long  was  it  before  the  rancheria  of  the 
Salvias  is  go  to  ruin.  They  all  go  away,  the 
vaqueros  and  the  women.  La  Bonita,  she  stay 
like  the  faithful  dog  till  she  die.     And  then 


296  CHIQUITA 

was  Chiquita  alone — alone,  till  she  have  found 
Ramon." 

Here  the  story-teller  gazed  tenderly  toward 
the  door  of  the  herder's  cabin,  where  in  the 
quiet  shadows  just  within,  sat  a  pathetic  white- 
haired  figure. 

"But  what  became  of  Juan?"    I  asked. 

There  was  a  peculiar  light  in  the  Mexican's 
eyes  as  he  replied : 

"Long,  long  ago  he  die — that  Uttle  Juan. 
It  was  well  that  he  die,  for  when  Ramon  came, 
then  was  there  no  more  need  of  Juan.  Then, 
too,  my  poor  Chiquita  did  not  know,  and  why 
was  it  then  that  Juan  should  Uve?" 


A  DEAD  IDEAL 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DISSECTING  ROOM 


I  had  been  practising  medicine  for  some  years, 
and  had  grown  tired  of  the  hard  daily  grind  of 
the  general  practitioner.  I  longed  for  a  vaca- 
tion, but  medicine  is  a  hard  task  mistress  and 
with  the  busy  physician  economy  of  time  is  so 
essential  that  his  so-called  "rest"  is  usually 
merely  a  change  of  work.  I  felt  that  it  must 
be  so  with  me,  and  resolved  to  hie  me  to  some 
of  the  eastern  centers  of  medical  teaching  and 
take  a  post  graduate  course  in  several  special 
subjects.  Polyclinics  and  post  graduate  schools 
being  then  unknown,  I  went  to  New  York  and 
matriculated  at  one  of  that  city's  famous 
schools,  one  which  had  attained  a  high  repu- 
tation for  practical  bedside  instruction  and 
abundant  clinical  material. 

It  was  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  school 
boy,  that  I  enrolled  my  name  upon  the  college 
roster  and  settled  down  to  earnest  work  in  the 
hospital  wards  and  dissecting  rooms. 

As  I  was  desirous  of  minghng  with  my  class- 
es? 


298  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

mates  as  much  as  possible,  and  was  not 
averse  to  a  certain  degree  of  practical  economy, 
I  formed  a  combination  with  three  under- 
graduates, who  were  recommended  to  me  as 
desirable  associates,  and  became  a  guest  of  a 
medical  students'  boarding  house — an  establish- 
ment characterized  by  abundant  opportunities 
for  the  study  of  entomology  and  the  effects  of 
prolonged  fasting  upon  the  human  body,  rather 
than  by  the  abundance  and  variety  of  its 
larder.  As  was  the  custom  among  medical 
students,  we  clubbed  together  and  occupied  a 
large  single  room — none  too  elaborately  fur- 
nished, but  very  comfortable  withal,  and  made 
rather  attractive  by  a  large,  old  fashioned  fire- 
place. 

My  room-mates  were  most  agreeable  asso- 
ciates, although  not  altogether  harmonious  in 
tastes  and  methods  of  study.  Two  were  young 
Southerners — men  of  superior  attainments,  but 
typic  ladies'  men,  and  fond  of  social  dissipation 
and  excitement.  Both  were  possessed  of  some 
means,  and  had  adopted  our  mode  of  hving 
because  of  social  and  bohemian  instincts  rather 
than  from  motives  of  economy.  Time  was  an 
unimportant  factor  with  them,  hence  they 
rarely  suffered  from  over-study,  although  they 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  299 

were  often  the  worse  for  the  wear  and  tear  of 
social  dissipation.  If  ever  there  was  a  well 
matched  pair  of  college  cronies  it  was  my  j^oung 
friends,  Will  Richardson  and  Charles  Favell. 

The  fourth  member  of  our  circle,  Harold 
Parkyn,  was  about  my  own  age,  and  as  different 
from  our  jovial  room-mates  as  possible.  He 
had  been  an  artist,  it  seems,  and  an  unappre- 
ciated one,  which  was  no  fault  of  his,  for  he 
had  talent  that  fell  but  little  short  of  genius. 
Despairing  of  success  in  his  chosen  profession 
and  abhorring  commercial  pursuits,  he  had  en- 
tered medicine  at  a  rather  late  period  in  life. 

I  have  rarely  met  a  man  so  ill  adapted  by 
natui'e  to  medicine  as  was  ParkjTi.  He  was  a 
fine,  athletic,  handsome  fellow,  with  a  clear  cut, 
refined  and  classical  face,  and  magnificent  dark 
eyes  which  evidenced  a  temperament  far  too 
esthetic,  and  emotional  faculties  too  exalted 
and  sensitive  to  withstand  the  physical  and 
mental  strain  mcidental  to  intimate  association 
with  human  suffering.  His  first  visit  to  the 
dissecting  room  was  harrowing  to  witness,  and 
it  was  weeks  before  he  made  an  attempt  to 
quahfy  in  practical  anatomy.  At  his  first 
surgical  cHnic  he  fainted  outright.  A  large 
part  of  the  disagreeable  features  of  caring  for 


300  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

the  sick  filled  him  with  disgust.  And  yet, 
Parkyn  was  plucky;  his  was  not  a  spirit  to  be 
easily  discouraged,  and  he  appHed  himself 
persistently  to  the  task  of  subduing  his  finer 
feelings  and  acquiring  the  proverbial  callosity 
of  the  medical  student — an  effort  in  which  he 
most  signally  failed. 

Parkyn  was  not  only  of  a  delicately  sensitive 
nervous  organization,  but  he  was  rather  pecuhar 
in  his  ways.  Affable  at  times — when  his  chums 
were  indulging  in  joUity — he  was  generally  one 
of  the  most  reserved  and  taciturn  men  I  have 
ever  met;  especially  was  he  unsocial  in  the 
presence  of  ladies.  So  noticeable  was  this 
pecuUarity  that  the  young  women  of  the  house- 
hold had  dubbed  him  ''Old  Crusty" — which 
disturbed  his  serenity  not  at  all,  even  when 
Richardson  and  Favell,  in  a  spirit  of  mischief 
and  with  great  show  of  formality,  adopted  the 
sobriquet  applied  to  him  by  the  ladies.  In 
grave  and  solenm  caucus  these  young  gentle- 
men decided  that  Parkyn  was  a  confirmed 
woman  hater,  and  deservedly  doomed  to  die 
an  old  bachelor.  Their  favorite  occupation 
was  the  reading  of  love  letters  which  they 
pretended  to  have  received,  and  the  exhibition 
of  photographs  of  pretty  girls  to  ''Old  Crusty." 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  301 

Being  a  practitioner,  and  therefore  concededly 
the  oracle  of  our  Httle  student  family,  I  was  a 
sort  of  balance  wheel  to  the  party,  standing 
between  the  occasional  over-exuberance  of  Rich- 
ardson and  Favell  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
extreme  sensitiveness  of  Parky n  on  the  other 

One  evening  as  we  were  all  sitting  before  the 
fireplace  enjoying  our  after-dinner  pipes,  Favell 
brought  out  from  the  recesses  of  his  wonderfully 
productive  pocket,  a  photograph  of  a  most 
beautiful  woman,  and  with  a  fine  show  of 
counterfeit  embarrassment,  exhibited  it  as  "The 
picture  of  a  very  dear  friend  of  mine,  down  home 
— just  received  this  morning.  Very  charming 
girl — particular  friend  of  my  sister's,"  etc.  etc. 

The  picture  was  certainly  beautiful,  and  if 
Favell  was  telling  the  truth  he  had  reason  to  be 
proud  of  the  charming  young  woman's  acquaint- 
ance, but  as  I  looked  at  the  photograph,  I 
fancied  I  remembered  having  seen  it  before,  in 
a  stationer's  shop.  I  made  no  comment,  how- 
ever, and  Favell  proceeded  to  launch  the 
arrows  of  his  wit  at  Parky n. 

''Say,  old  man,  here  is  something  that  ought 
to  stir  your  blood  at  last !  How  can  you  remain 
a  woman  hater  and  know  that  there  are  such 
charming  creatures  on  this  old  planet  of  ours  as 


302  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

Miss — Ahem! — the  original  of  this  photograph? 
Ah!  your  eyes  are  actually  growing  green  with 
envy.  You  dear  old  stick,  you!  Has  it  been 
merely  a  slight  touch  of  sour  grapes  after  all? 
Tell  me,  old  fellow,  did  you  ever  see  anything 
so  beautiful  as  this  face?  Did  you  ever  know 
a  loveher  girl?" 

Parkyn  rose  from  his  chair,  and  with  a 
mournful  expression  replied,  ''One  only,  my 
dear  boy,  and  she — but  pardon  me,"  he  said, 
coloring  up,  "you  well  know  that  the  subject 
of  ladies  is  one  which — bores  -me.  I  must 
leave  such  things  to  social  butterflies  hke  your- 
self and  our  mutual  friend  Richardson  here. 
And,  by  the  way,  gentlemen,  I  must  hie  myself 
to  a  subject  even  more  distasteful  than  that  of 
woman  in  the  abstract.  I  promised  Professor 
Van  Buren  that  I  would  finish  that  abominable 
dissection  of  the  upper  extremity  to-night. 
You  see  that  the  trend  of  Favell's  conversation 
has  driven  me  to  extremities.  Yes,  thank  God ! 
to  my  last  extremity."  Saying  which  he  with- 
drew. 

''Now,  see  here,  boys,"  I  said,  after  Parkyn 
had  gone.  "You  mustn't  tease  our  friend  so 
outrageously.  If  I  am  not  mistaken  you  hit 
him  on  a  tender  point  just  now,  and  he  is  far 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  303 

too  sensitive  and  high-strung  to  alwaj^s  take 
your  badinage  so  good  naturedly  as  he  did 
to-night.  I  suspect  that  Harold  Park>Ti  is 
quite  as  human  as  the  rest  of  us  and  that  he — 
well,  who  knows  that  he  may  not  be  bitterly 
mourning  over  the  gi'ave  of  buried  hopes? 
No,  boys,  you  must  let  him  alone.  You  may 
be  inflicting  pain  upon  him." 

*'By  Jove,  doctor!"  exclaimed  Favell,  "I 
never  thought  of  that.  I'll  just  bet  the  dear 
old  fellow  has  had  a  love  affair.  And  it  hasn't 
turned  out  right;  that's  what's  the  matter.  I'll 
apologize  to  him  as  soon  as  he  returns." 

*'Yes,  and  a  fine  mess  you'll  make  of  it!" 
said  Richardson.  ''You  would  better  let  well 
enough  alone.  We'll  both  have  a  Uttle  sense 
and  delicacy  hereafter.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
have  for  some  time  been  a  Uttle  ashamed  of 
my  part  in  our  chaffing,  and  I'm  only  too  glad 
to  reform." 

ParkjTi  was  veiy  thoughtful  for  several  days 
after  the  affair  of  the  photograph,  and  even 
more  reserved  than  usual.  The  boys  kept 
their  promises  and  did  not  again  attempt  to 
banter  him.  I  fancied  that  he  understood  the 
studious  poHteness  and  affectionate  consider- 


304  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

ation  with  which  he  was  subsequently  treated, 
although  there  was  no  comment. 

Several  weeks  later,  Parkjm  and  myself 
chanced  to  be  alone  together  and,  as  is  Hkely 
to  be  the  case  among  young  professional  men, 
our  talk  drifted  into  a  discussion  of  our  aims  and 
ambitions  in  hfe.  In  the  course  of  the  conver- 
sation I  quite  naturally  commented  upon  the 
wide  variance  between  Parkyn's  former  profes- 
sion and  the  one  in  the  study  of  which  he  was 
then  engaged. 

"It  has  always  puzzled  me  to  understand,  I 
said,  how  a  man  of  your  artistic  temperament 
and  admitted  abihty,  could  ever  have  deserted 
the  profession  of  art  for  that  of  medicine." 

"Well,"  rephed  Parkyn,  "you  have  doubtless 
forgotten  the  fact  which  I  long  ago  frankly 
stated  to  our  mutual  friends  and  yourself, 
that  I  was  not  highly  appreciated  by  the  public 
and  finally  despaired  of  success — not  in  making 
a  living,  for  I  could  by  dint  of  strong  exertion 
do  that — but  in  attaining  the  position  in  my 
profession  which  I  felt  was  justly  my  due.  I, 
myself,  often  wonder  why  I  finally  selected 
medicine  as  my  field  of  labor,  but  I  couldn't 
sell  groceries;  the  law  wouldn't  do  at  all,  and 
the  ministry  was  out  of  the  question,  so  there 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  305 

seemed  to  be  nothing  but  medicine  left." 
Parkyn  sighed,  and  remained  for  some  moments 
dreamily  gazing  into  the  fire-place  and  list- 
lessly poking  at  the  glowing  coals  with  the  tongs. 

''But,  my  dear  fellow,"  I  said,  "you  have 
selected  a  profession  that  is  nearly  as  difficult 
as  art,  so  far  as  winning  fame  and  financial 
success  is  concerned,  and  moreover,  one  which 
has  by  comparison  no  features  of  attractive- 
ness. You  will  pardon  me  if  I  also  say  that 
medicine  is  a  profession  to  which  your  sensitive 
organization  is  but  poorly  adapted." 

Parkyn  arose  and  nervously  paced  the  floor 
He  finally  paused  and  facing  me  said,  "Doctor, 
I  realize  the  truth  of  what  you  say  only  too 
keenly,  and  what  is  more  I  detest  your  profes- 
sion so  far  as  I  have  gone.  I  have,  however, 
determined  not  only  to  overcome  my  repug- 
nance to  it,  but  to  blunt  by  sheer  force  of  will 
the  peculiarities  of  organization  to  which  you 
have  alluded.  Distasteful  as  it  is,  medicine 
is  delightful  by  comparison  with  the  hell  into 
which  my  chosen  profession,  art,  finally  precip- 
itated me.  Ye  gods,  man !  You  do  not  reahze 
what — but  pshaw!  this  is  not  interesting  to 
you,  and  besides,  I  never  talk  of  myself." 

''See  here,  Parkyn,"  I  said,  "it  might  be  far 


306  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

better  for  you  to  talk  about  yourself  a  little, 
especially  to  one  who  understands  you — as  I 
think  I  do.  I  have  often  suspected  that  there 
was  a  story  connected  with  your  change  of 
profession  and  from  the  best  of  motives  I  am 
anxious  to  hear  it.  Come  now,  old  man,  out 
with  it — I  am  as  interested  and  sympathetic  as 
you  please,  and  as  deep  and  silent  as  a  well." 

Parkyn  reflected  for  a  moment  and  then 
replied,  *'I  am  quite  sure  you  understand  me 
much  better  than  most  of  my  friends,  but  I  do 
not  fancy  being  thought  ridiculous,  even  by 
you,  and  my  stor}^  might  seem  absurd  to  a  man 
of  your  philosophic  and  rather  lymphatic  tem- 
perament." 

''Oh,  nonsense!"  I  exclaimed,  ''I'm  not  so 
lymphatic  as  you  seem  to  think.  Philosophy 
puts  a  check  on  the  impulses  of  the  heart,  while 
art  lets  them  roam  fancy  free,  yet  human  nature 
is  the  same  in  both  philosopher  and  artist,  so 
fire  away,  old  fellow;  I'm  all  ears — evolutionary 
relics  you  know." 

Parkyn  leaned  languidly  against  the  corner 
of  the  mantel,  his  chin  resting  upon  his  hands 
and  began: 

"The  details  of  my  career  up  to  the  date  of 
the  circumstances  that  impelled  me  to  leave 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  307 

the  profession  for  which  nature  adapted  me, 
are  commonplace.  My  hfe  was  that  of  the 
average  poor  boy  of  artistic  tastes  and  talents, 
who  fights  his  way  to  the  attainment  of  a 
thorough  professional  training.  By  hard  work, 
I  succeeded  in  getting  enough  money  together 
to  enable  me  to  study  with  the  most  celebrated 
masters  of  Europe.  I  finally  settled  down  in 
my  native  city,  Boston,  and  after  many  trials 
and  vicissitudes,  was  in  due  time  in  a  fair  way  to 
earn  a  respectable  living,  although  fame  was  by 
no  means  beating  her  angehc  wings  against  the 
windows  of  my  studio.  It  was  too  near  the  roof, 
I  fear,"  and  Parkjoi  smiled  somewhat  bitterly. 
"It  so  happened  that  the  society  of  artists 
of  which  I  eventually  became  a  member,  insti- 
tuted a  yearly  exhibition  of  paintings  patterned 
after  the  Paris  Salon.  As  an  act  of  extreme 
condescension  I  was  especially  invited  by  the 
directors  of  the  exhibition  to  contribute.  The 
invitation  was  gladly  accepted  and  I  promptly 
began  casting  about  for  a  suitable  theme — a 
matter  that  often  constitutes  the  most  difficult 
part  of  the  artist's  labors.  The  department 
of  painting  in  which  I  was  particularly  adept 
was  the  study  of  the  nude  and  I  quite  naturally 
resolved  to  produce  something  in  the  fine  of  my 


308  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

favorite  work.  And  then  came  the  search  for 
a  model. 

"Contrary  to  the  popular  notion,  a  satis- 
factory model  is  a  very  scarce  commodity. 
The  human  form  divine  rarely  stands  the  keen 
professional  criticism  of  the  eye  artistic.  A 
picture  is  oftener  the  composite  of  several 
models  than  the  actual  delineation  of  one.  The 
arms  and  shoulders  of  one,  the  feet  of  another, 
and  the  torso  of  still  another  may  be  required. 
Several  months  passed  away  and  although  the 
time  for  the  exhibition  was  dangerously  near, 
I  had  not  yet  found  what  I  sought.  As  you 
may  imagine,  I  was  in  despair,  for  having  set 
my  heart  upon  a  certain  subject  for  my  picture, 
I  was  loth  to  abandon  it,  for  another  of  less 
interest.  And  now  comes  the  strangest  part 
of  my  story — the  part  which  I  fear  is  hardly 
materialistic  enough  for  you,  my  dear  doctor,'' 
and  Parkyn  hesitated. 

"Go  on,  go  on!"  I  exclaimed. 

"I  had  always  been  an  ardent  student  of 
the  classics,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  reading  for 
an  hour  or  two  before  retiring.  In  selecting 
a  book  almost  at  random  from  the  modest 
httle  collection  of  odds  and  ends — by  courtesy 
my  library — I  happened  one  evening  to  get 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  309 

hold  of  an  old  treatise  on  mythology.  While 
reading  of  the  gods  and  goddesses  therein 
described,  and  admiring  the  artistic  opportun- 
ities afforded  by  the  social  circle  in  which  the 
heathen  deities  moved,  I  fell  asleep  in  my 
chair,  and  dreaming,  found  that  for  which  I 
had  vainly  sought  in  my  waking  hours — my 
model. 

''You  as  a  practical  physician  will  doubtless 
attribute  my  dream  to  the  direct  impression 
made  upon  my  brain  bj^  the  character  of  the 
book  I  had  been  reading,  and  I  must  admit 
that  my  experience  had  certain  features  which 
would  justify  such  an  opinion,  yet  I  feel  never- 
theless that  my  dream  model  had  a  basis  of 
reality. 

"1  seemed  to  be  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  garden 
— the  most  beautiful  I  had  ever  seen.  The 
flowers  and  shrubs  surpassed  all  forms  with 
which  I  was  famihar.  Hovering  over  the  rare 
and  many  hued  exotics  were  gorgeous  butter- 
flies and  humming  birds,  to  which  no  descrip- 
tion could  possibly  do  justice.  The  air  was 
redolent  with  the  odor  of  the  blossoms  and 
\dbrant  with  the  songs  of  rare  birds  and  the 
melodious   strains   of   unseen    musical   instru- 


310  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

ments.  'Surely,'  I  thought,  'this  must  be 
Paradise.' 

"As  I  stood  gazing  enraptured  upon  the 
sensuous  things  surrounding  me  I  became 
conscious  that  I  was  not  alone.  The  garden  was 
peopled  with  forms,  among  which  I  recog- 
nized some  of  the  more  familiar  of  the  mytho- 
logic  deities  whom  I  had  just  left  within  the 
covers  of  my  book.  As  these  luminous  beings 
passed  and  repassed  me,  I  perceived  that  there 
was  some  central  object  of  attraction.  They 
appeared  to  be  gathering  about  a  beautiful 
fountain  that  stood,  half  hidden  by  flowering 
plants  and  foliage,  in  the  center  of  the  garden. 
FeeUng  that  my  human  curiosity  was  justified 
by  that  which  even  the  celestial  beings  about 
me  were  exhibiting,  I  approached  the  spot  and 
there  beheld  a  scene  which  astonished  and  de- 
lighted me  beyond  measure. 

*'Just  within  the  spray  of  the  fountain  that 
ghttered  and  sparkled  with  surprising  brilUan- 
C}^,  showing  combinations  of  colors  which  I  had 
never  before  seen,  was  a  golden,  shell-hke  couch. 
Upon,  or  rather  within  this  couch,  lay  the  sleep- 
ing form  of  a  most  beautiful  woman!  Gazing 
upon  this  lovely  creature,  I  was  not  surprised 
that  the  strange  beings  about  me  were  attract- 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  311 

ed  by  her  beauty.  My  own  artistic  eye  was 
fairly  entranced.  I  saw  at  once  that  the  ob- 
ject of  my  admiration  was  different  from  the 
beings  who  peopled  the  celestial  garden.  She 
was  human — although  the  loveliest  of  woman- 
kind. 

"My  first  feeling  of  mingled  awe  and  ad- 
miration was  soon  replaced  by  a  most  gratify- 
ing sense  of  triumph.  I  had  found  what  was 
to  me  a  much  desired  object — a  perfect  model 
for  my  picture!  With  feverish  haste  I  drew 
sketch  book  and  pencil  from  my  pocket  and 
endeavored  to  outline  the  only  perfect  female 
form  I  had  ever  seen. 

'^As  is  usual  in  the  dream  state,  I  found  that 
I  had  lost  all  power  of  doing  those  things  which 
were  part  of  my  daily  life.  I  could  not  draw 
a  single  line;  my  artistic  talent  and  indeed, 
even  the  power  of  voluntary  motion  necessary 
in  drawing,  was  wholly  gone.  You  may  imag- 
ine how  I  despaired.  Everything  was  real 
to  me,  and  my  inability  to  sketch  the  model 
for  which  I  had  so  dong  sought  in  vain,  was 
most  distressing,  so  distressing  that  I  awoke. 

"I  was  greatly  impressed  by  my  dream,  but 
inchned  to  smile  at  the  keen  disappointment 
that  I  felt  on  awaking.     The  peculiar  circum- 


312  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

stances  under  which  I  had  found  my  model 
were  naturally  aggravating,  but  I  consoled 
myself  with  the  reflection  that  dream  pictures 
are  not  very  substantial  after  all,  and  that  even 
though  the  sketch  which  I  attempted  had  been 
made,  my  sketch  book  would  have  been  rather 
evanescent.  It  certainly  would  have  been  lost 
on  the  way  back  to  earth. 

* 'Whether  because  of  the  vivid  impression 
the  vision  of  the  female  loveHness  made  upon 
me,  I  cannot  say — you  are  a  practical  psychol- 
ogist and  should  know  more  of  such  matters 
than  I — but  my  dream  repeated  itself  in  every 
detail  the  following  night.  Even  my  unsuccess- 
ful endeavor  to  sketch  the  beautiful  woman 
was  faithfully  reproduced,  and  I  again  awoke 
to  the  consciousness  of  keen  disappointment 
at  the  loss  of  a  long  sought  artistic  opportunity. 

''A  detailed  reproduction  of  a  dream,  is  as 
you  know,  not  common,  but  I  felt  intuitively 
that  a  further  repetition  would  quite  hkely 
occur  and  when  I  retired  on  the  second  night 
following  the  original  dream,  it  was  with  a 
fixed  determination  to  so  impress  the  vision 
of  loveliness  I  had  seen  upon  my  mind,  that  I 
could  from  memory  alone,  utilize  the  model 
which  had  come  to  me  in  such  a  strange  fashion. 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  313 

^'The  wished  for  dream  occurred  precisely  as 
on  the  two  previous  nights,  and  I  remember 
making  a  most  earnest  endeavor  to  photograph 
the  wonderful  model  upon  my  memory — an 
effort  in  which  I  was  only  too  successful.  When 
I  awoke,  my  model  was  so  vividly  pictured  in 
m}^  mind  that  the  work  of  reproducing  her  upon 
canvas  was  no  more  difficult  than  if  her  living 
form  had  been  actually  before  me. 

"And  then  came  the  disaster  of  my  life.  It 
was  the  story  of  PygmaHon  and  Galatea  over 
again.  I  began  my  work  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  artist,  and  completed  it  with  the  ardor  of 
the  man.  I  fell  in  love  with  my  own  creation! 
The  self-confessed  misogynist,  who  had  never 
been  susceptible  to  the  real  in  womankind,  be- 
came enslaved  by  an  ideal  from  dreamland 
which  my  brush  had  metamorphosed  into  some- 
thing material.  I  finally  became  intoxicated 
with  the  idea  that  my  model  must  herself  have 
a  material  being;  that  the  feminine  perfection 
I  had  seen  in  the  vision  was  but  the  dream  pic- 
ture of  a  real  personage — a  'fair  woman  who 
actually  lived  in  the  flesh! 

"My  picture  was  done!  It  was  destined  to 
be  my  last  and,  like  the  song  of  the  djdng  swan, 
it  was  my  masterpiece.     But  I  had  no  longer  a 


314  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

thought  of  the  exhibition.  I  became  infatuated 
with  the  idea  that  through  some  occult  and 
mysterious  influence  I  had  had  the  opportunity 
of  utilizing  as  a  model  the  fairest  of  womankind. 
It  was  not  by  her  ow^n  volition  that  she  became 
my  model.  To  hang  her  picture  at  the  exhi- 
bition would  be  a  crime.  The  most  beautiful 
model  in  the  whole  world  should  not  be  gazed 
upon  by  the  vulgar  herd.  She  was  mine,  and 
mine  alone.  She  was  real;  she  lived,  and  one 
day  we  should  meet,  and  then — 

"Ah,  me!  Was  it  not  thus  that  Aphrodite 
breathed  the  spark  of  life,  the  material  essence 
of  reality  into  the  ivory  form  of  Galatea?  Such 
is  the  power  of  that  worship  of  the  ideal  that 
the  Philistine  calls  love,  over  the  human  heart! 

''There  is  little  more  to  be  told.  My  picture 
became  a  shrine  at  which  I  w^orshipped  by  day 
and  dreamed  by  night.  Its  possession  was 
happiness.  The  failure  to  find  the  original  was 
the  acme  of  misery.  I  lost  all  interest  in  the 
art  that  had  created  the  painting,  and  the 
very  thought  of  devoting  the  talent  which  had 
developed  my  ideal  to  subjects  that  must 
ever  be  less  worthy  became  abhorrent  to  me. 
My  all  of  art,  my  all  of  life,  my  loftiest  aspira- 
tions were  there  in  the  beautiful  painting,  the 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  315 

model  for  which  had  come  to  me  m  my  ch-eams. 

"Ah,  my  dear  doctor!"  exclaimed  Parkyii,  as 
he  extended  his  hand  imploringly  towards  me, 
"do  not  laugh  at  me.  Be  something  more 
than  a  man  of  science,  something  more  than  a 
materialist,  and  do  not  discom*age  me  when  I 
sa}'  that  I  know  that  my  ideal  lives,  know^  that 
somehow,  somewhere,  I  am  to  meet  her ! 

"You  have  heard  my  story,  my  dear  friend. 
You  are  the  first  to  whom  I  have  told  it,  and 
shall  be  the  last." 

"My  dear  Parkyn,"  I  said,  when  my  friend 
had  finished  his  story,  "the  ver}'-  essence  of 
materialism  itself,  should  respect  the  artistic 
and  emotional  nature  that  could  develop  such 
an  experience  as  you  have  had.  I  am,  myself, 
b}'  no  means  so  materialistic  as  you  suppose. 
We  have  not  j^et  solved  the  mysteries  of  psy- 
cholog3\  We  know  nothing  of  the  workings  of 
human  affinities,  and  there  are  those,  even 
among  us  men  of  science,  who  are  not  altogether 
blind  to  the  possibilities  of  the  occult.  Men 
have  been  shattered  upon  the  rocks  and  shoals 
of  ideahty  before,  and  will  be  again.  Not  all 
could  have  so  pure  and  fair  an  ideal  as  you  have 
described.  Your  vision  w^as  extraordinary,  and 
although  as  a  physician  I  might  descant  to  you 


316  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

on  the  relation  of  over-work  and  lack  of  exercise 
to  figments  of  the  imagination,  still  as  a  man, 
and  one  in  whom  the  finer  senigibilities  are  not 
yet  dead,  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  not  only 
sympathize  with  you,  but  I — ^well,  I  myself 
suspect  that  there  is  somewhere  a  substantial 
foundation  for  your  dream.  It  is  by  no  means 
impossible  that  you  may  one  day  find  your 
model,  and,  my  dear  fellow,  I  sincerely  hope 
you  will." 

Parkyn  grasped  my  hand  warmly,  and  stood 
in  silence  for  a  moment,  then,'with  an  expression 
of  gratification  and  happiness  such  as  I  had 
never  before  seen  on  his  face,  he  said  slowly : 

"You  do,  indeed,  understand  me,  doctor. 
Your  medical  philosophy  is  tinctured  with  just 
enough  of  the  fire  of  romance,  your  heart  has 
just  enough  of  the  emotional  attributes  of  the 
true  artist,  to  enable  you  to  be  something  more 
than  a  mere  compounder  and  prescriber  of 
drugs.  I  understand  now,  why  you  have  a 
penchant  for  psychology.  Wise  is  he  who  hath 
read  the  chapter  on  hearts  in  the  book  of  human 
life!" 

The  end  of  the  college  term  was  drawing  near, 
and  even  Favell  and  Richardson  had  settled 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  317 

down  to  something  like  earnest  work  prepara- 
tory to  examinations.  I  had  just  finished  my 
dissections,  as  had  my  room-mates  several 
weeks  before,  hence  had  no  occasion  to  visit  that 
gloomy  and  dismal  room  above  stairs  known 
as  the  hall  of  anatomy.  When,  therefore,  we 
heard  one  day  of  a  marvellously  interesting 
subject  that  had  just  been  brought  over  from 
Blackwell's  Island,  our  interest  was  not  espe- 
cially excited.  The  dissecting  room  is  by  no 
means  haunted  by  students  who  have  finished 
their  prescribed  course  in  anatomy.  It  seems, 
however,  that  one  of  Fa  veil's  friends  had 
induced  him  to  go  up  to  the  dissecting-room 
one  morning  to  inspect  the  anatomic  wonder, 
which  I  had  understood  somewhat  vaguely, 
was  the  body  of  a  remarkably  beautiful  woman. 
Parkyn,  Richardson  and  myself  were  just 
preparing  to  go  to  dinner,  meanwhile  wondering 
what  had  become  of  the  ever-hungry  Favell, 
when  that  worthy  broke  into  the  room  in  a  state 
of  great  excitement,  crying,  ^'Say,  boys,  you 
just  ought  to  see  the  subject  that's  come  in  from 
the  Island !  Gee,  whiz !  but  it's  a  beauty — the 
handsomest  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  woman  that 
ever  was  born!  Why,  half  the  artists  and  all 
the  newspaper  men  in  New  York  have  been  up 


318  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

to  see  it.  They're  all  crazy  over  it.  You  boys 
must  go  up  and  look  at  it  tonight,  and  if  you 
don't  say  that  body  is  the  most  beautiful  thing 
you  ever  saw,  I'll  bu}^  the  dinners  for  the  crowd. 
I  mean  you,  especially,  Parkyn.  I  suspect  that 
you  are  much  cleverer  than  any  of  those  daubers 
who  have  seen  it,  and  I  know  you'll  revel  in  the 
beauties  of  what  might  have  been  an  artist's 
model." 

Richardson  and  myself  promptly  agreed  to 
visit  the  nine  days  wonder,  but  it  was  with 
extreme  difficulty  that  I  induced  Parkyn  to 
accompany  us.  When  he  did  finally  yield  to 
my  entreaties  he  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  my  urgent 
request  that  he  take  some  sketching  materials 
with  him. 

''You  well  know,  doctor,"  he  said,  "that  I 
have  reformed.  I  never  sketch.  Sketching  is 
a  lost  art  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  You  forget, 
my  dear  friend — " 

I  suddenly  remembered,  and  was  silent.  I 
alone  understood  the  sentiments  that  inspired 
his  refusal. 

Evening  came,  and  our  little  party  proceeded 
to  the  chamber  of  horrors  which,  as  I  supposed, 
Favell's  boyish  nonsense  had  converted  into  a 
mortuary  of  dead  female  beauty.     I  more  than 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  319 

half  suspected  a  practical  joke.  My  young 
friend  was  much  given  to  such  diversions. 

AiTiving  at  the  dissecting  room,  we  found  a 
large  congregation  of  men  standing  about  one 
of  the  tables.  Here  and  there  I  could  see 
several  who,  sketch-book  in  hand,  were  busily 
at  work  utilizing  what  they  evidently  considered 
an  artistic  opportunity.  Fa  veil  and  Richardson, 
boylike,  pushed  their  way  through  the  crowd, 
while  Parkyn  and  I  leisurely  brought  up  the  rear. 
I  heard  the  demonstrator  of  anatomy  say — 

"Well,  gentlemen,  we  must  begin  our  dissec- 
tion. We  have  already  devoted  too  much  time 
to  sentiment." 

As  the  professor  poised  his  gleaming  scalpel 
over  the  body.  Fa  veil  exclaimed,  "Wait  just  a 
moment,  sir,  please,  here  comes  Parkyn." 

The  professor,  with  whom  the  cultured  and 
artistic  Parkyn  was  a  favorite,  stayed  his  hand, 
and  with  knife  upraised,  waited.  The  crowd 
made  way  for  my  friend,  and  I  stepped  aside 
to  allow  him  to  pass  ahead  of  me. 

There  are  some  events  which  are  so  replete 
with  action  and  dramatic  excitement  that  no 
one,  how^ever  observing,  can  faithfully  describe 
them.  Note  upon  this  point  the  conflicting 
testimony  of  disinterested  eye-witnesses  in  mur- 


320  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

der  trials.  Such  was  the  scene  which  followed 
the  introduction  of  Parkyn  to  the  presence  of 
that  body. 

There  was  a  yell  like  that  of  a  maniac,  a 
swift  rush,  the  colhsion  of  two  bodies,  a  heavy 
fall!  As  I  sprang  quickly  into  the  midst  of  the 
swaying,  trampling,  excited  crowd  about  the 
table,  the  demonstrator,  pale  and  frightened, 
was  just  rising  from  the  floor,  his  scalpel  still  in 
his  trembling  hand  and  his  face  cut  and  bleeding 
where  his  assailant  had  struck  him  in  the  first 
mad  rush.  Parkyn  was  still  lying  on  the  floor, 
and  on  endeavoring  with  the  assistance  of 
several  students  to  raise  him  to  his  feet,  I  saw 
that  he  was  insensible.  Upon  his  temple  was 
a  deep,  jagged  gash  where  his  head  had  come  in 
contact  with  the  corner  of  the  table. 

Temporary  emotional  insanity  in  a  man  of 
highly  WTought  nervous  organization  was  the 
universal  verdict,  and  it  was  with  genuine 
sorrow  and  regret  that  poor  Parkyn' s  fellow 
students  took  him  to  the  hospital,  apparently 
in  a  hfeless  condition. 

But  Parkyn  did  not  die — his  skull  was  not 
fractured.  This  was  very  fortunate,  in  the  light 
of  subsequent  events,  for  he  developed  symp- 
toms of  meningitis,  and  hovered  between  Hfe 


A  DEAD  IDEAL  321 

and  death  for  many  weeks.  I  remained  in  the 
city  to  care  for  him  and  was  a  proud  and  happy 
man  when  I  was  able  to  pronounce  him  out  of 
danger. 

How  poor  Parkjm  raved  as  his  fever  and 
deUrium  rose!  No  one  but  myself  knew  the 
story  of  his  wild,  ecstatic  visions  and  apparently 
erratic  talk — and  I  said  nothing. 

During  his  illness  I  had  occasion  to  open 
Parkyn's  trunk.  While  rummaging  about  in 
search  of  his  wearing  apparel,  I  found  the  pic- 
tured dream  of  his  artist  days.  I  knew  then 
how  powerful  was  the  shock  that  made  my  poor 
friend,  in  intent,  at  least,  a  murderer.  I  care 
not  what  the  world  may  say  of  the  vagaries  of 
foolish  old  doctors  and  the  maunderings  of  aged, 
would-be  philosophers;  I  care  not  who  may 
doubt; — I  held  in  my  hands  the  picture  of  the 
beautiful  subject  of  the  dissecting  hall.  Beauti- 
ful beyond  the  power  of  pen  or  tongue  to  portray, 
realistic  to  a  living,  breathing,  sentient  degree,  I 
beheld  the  portrait  of  the  original  of  the  Ufeless 
clay  which  was  the  central  figure  of  the  romance 
of  the  dissecting  room. 

When  Parkyn  recovered  from  his  illness  his 
mind  was  a  blank,  so  far  as  his  artistic  training 
and  the  romance  of  the  picture  and  corpse  were 


322  A  DEAD  IDEAL 

concerned.  I  concealed  the  picture,  deeming  it 
unwise  to  revive  dangerous  memories  in  his 
mind.  It  remained  in  my  possession  for  several 
years.  I  kept  it  hidden  because  it  seemed  a 
sacrilege  to  permit  it  to  be  gazed  upon  by  the 
eyes  of  the  commonplace.  My  office  was  finally 
destroyed  by  fire,  and  I  confess  that  I  was  not 
sorry  when  I  discovered  that  the  trunk  which 
contained  the  painting  was  not  among  the  prop- 
erties saved  from  the  flames. 

Parkyn  became  a  plodding  practitioner  in  a 
little  country  town  in  New  York  State.  I 
visited  him  some  years  later,  and  found  that 
his  ideals  were  represented  by  a  short,  dumpy, 
motherly,  little  red-headed  wife  and  half  a 
dozen  tow-headed,  freckle-faced  youngsters  that 
looked  for  all  the  world  like  turkey  eggs  and 
jack  o'  lanterns. 


A  MATTER  OF"  PROFESSIONAL. 
SECRECY 


The  day  had  been  a  trying  one.  Four  cap- 
ital operations,  between  the  hours  of  eight  and 
ten  in  the  morning,  fifteen  minutes  for  washing 
up  and  changing  back  from  the  rubber  and 
white  duck  of  the  operating  room  to  my  ordina- 
ry habihments,  and  with  my  usual  fear  that  I 
was  still  redolent  with  the  fumes  of  ether  and 
that  sickish  odor  of  the  combined  horrors  of 
blood  and  iodoform,  I  was  off  for  my  cHnic  at 
the  medical  school  as  fast  as  my  team  of  thor- 
oughbreds could  take  me. 

A  strenuous  hour  of  teaching  and,  my  ner- 
vous force  already  nearly  exhausted,  although 
my  day's  work  had  just  begun,  I  hurried  to  my 
office,  taking  barely  enough  time  en  route  to 
swallow  a  hasty  lunch.  And  then  came  an  af- 
ternoon of  arduous  office  work,  with,  it  seemed 
to  me,  more  patients  and  more  tough  problems 
and  petty  annoyances  than  usual. 

My  office  hours  over,  I  was  privileged  to  spend 
a  half  hour  at  dinner,  before  attending  to  several 


323 


324  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

consultations.  I  wound  up  the  day  by  calling 
at  the  hospital  and  looking  over  the  cases  I  had 
operated  in  the  morning,  and  was  then  driven 
homev/ard,  fairly  worn  out,  by  what  was,  after 
all,  merely  an  average  day  in  the  hfe  of  the  col- 
lege professor. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  I  retired,  con- 
gratulating myself,  meanwhile,  that  I  had  com- 
pleted and  forwarded  to  the  pubUsher  the 
last  batch  of  MS.  for  my  new  book,  and  was 
therefore  privileged  to  rest  my  weary  bones  and 
exhausted  brain. 

A  telephone  at  one^s  bedside  is  sometimes  a 
great  convenience  for  the  physician,  but  there 
are  occasions  when  to  me  it  seems  an  invention 
of  the  devil — a  something  devised  especially  to 
defeat  the  ends  of  tired  nature — a  sort  of  Nem- 
esis, which  pursues  one  into  the  very  midst 
of  dreamland.  When  I  am  as  tired  as  I  was  on 
this  particular  night,  the  ringing  of  my  telephone 
bell  awakens  me  with  a  sudden  physical  and  men- 
tal shock  that  sets  my  every  nerve  a  quiver,  and 
makes  my  heart  beat  like  a  trip  hammer  for 
many  minutes. 

With  the  bell  still  ringing  with  impudent  in- 
sistency, I  found  myself  sitting  bolt  upright  in 
bed  and,  I  freely  confess,  swearing  to  the  limit 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  325 

of  my  vocabulary  of  the  profane.  Having  suf- 
ficiently identified  myself  to  the  party  at  the 
other  end  of  the  fine  he  said  excitedly,  "Doctor, 
you  are  wanted  at  once  at  No. —  B —  Street.  A 
man  is  dying.     For  God's  sake,  hurry !" 

And  I  stood  not  on  the  order  of  my  going. 

A  handsome  young  man,  apparently  about 
twenty-five  years  of  age,  lay  writhing  in  the 
most  horrible  agony,  and  crying,  ''Water,  for 
God's  sake  give  me  some  water !  I  am  burning 
up  inside !    My  stomach  and  bowels  are  on  fire !" 

From  time  to  time  frightful  paroxj^sms  of 
vomiting  came  on,  with  the  ejection  of  a  green- 
ish fluid  mixed  with  blood.  His  sufferings  were 
frightful  to  witness.  He  complained  of  cold 
shivers,  and  his  teeth  chattered  like  those  of  a 
man  with  an  ague  chill.  His  skin  was  yellow 
and  parchment  Hke,  and  his  face  drawn  and  cada^ 
verous.  His  eyes  were  sunken  and  surrounded 
by  great  dark  rings.  Their  dullness  was  only 
redeemed  by  the  gleam  of  fear  and  horror  of 
death  that  shone  in  their  depths. 

"Has  this  man  ever  before  been  ill,  so  far  as 
you  know?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  doctor,"  replied  an  elderly  woman — 
evidently  the  landlady,  for  the  ear  marks  of  the 
cheap  boarding  house  were  plain — "this  is  the 


326  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

third  attack  of  the  kind,  only  this  is  the  worst 
one  he's  had.  Until  a  month  ago  he  was  well 
and  hearty.  His  sickness  always  comes  on  in 
this  way,  with  that  funny  lookin'  vomit,  and 
that  burning  in  his  stomach.  This  is  the  first 
time  there's  been  any  blood,  though.  He  was 
all  right  this  morning  at  breakfast.  He  didn't 
come  home  to  dinner,  and  I  think  he  must  have 
eaten  somethin'  that  didn't  agree  with  him,  at 
one  o'  them  restaurants  downtown." 

I  immediately  gave  the  poor  fellow  a  hypo- 
dermic  of  morphine  and  requested  everybody 
to  leave  the  room.  He  grew  easier  in  a  few 
minutes,  I  meanwhile  administering  antidotes 
for  what  seemed  clearly  a  case  of  arsenical  pois- 
oning. 

*'My  friend,"  I  said,  "you  have  taken  arsenic. 
Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"No,  no,"  he  moaned,  shaking  his  head. 
"Julie,  Julie!"  Further  than  this  I  could  get 
nothing  intelligible  out  of  him. 

Another  paroxysm  of  that  awful  pain  came 
on,  and  I  was  obliged  to  resort  to  another  hypo- 
dermic. This  paroxysm  left  him  almost  pulse- 
less. His  skin  grew  cold  and  damp,  and  his 
eyes  assumed  that  glazed  and  set  appearance 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  327 

which  means  but  one  thing  to  the  professional 
eye.     My  patient  was  sinking  fast. 

I  quickly  administered  stimulants  hj^oderm- 
ically  and  then  called  the  sick  man's  friends  to 
his  bedside. 

"This  man  is  dying,"  I  said  quietly  to  the  land- 
lady. ''He  has  but  a  few  minutes  longer  to  live. 
See  if  you  can  get  him  to  say  anything  about 
himself." 

The  w^oman  spoke  to  the  dying  man  and  shook 
him  gently,  in  a  vain  effort  to  arouse  his  atten- 
tion. He  revived  a  little  for  a  fleeting  moment 
and  shook  his  head  feebly,  muttering  in  barely 
audible  tones,  'Tired — so  tired — sleepy." 

This  was  the  last  flicker  of  his  candle  of  life.  I 
could  no  longer  find  the  pulse  at  the  wrist.  The 
heart  sounds  grew  feebler  and  feebler  and  finally 
ceased  altogether.  The  face  grew  gray  and 
ghastl3\  The  eyes  were  set  and  dully  staring 
and  the  jaw  relaxed.  There  was  a  last  convul- 
sive expansion  and  contraction  of  the  chest  and 
a  gasping,  strident,  laryngeal  sound  as  the  breath 
finally  left  the  poor  fellow's  body  forever.  My 
unfortunate  patient  was  dead ! 

"What  was  the  matter  with  him.  Doctor?" 
asked  in  chorus  the  people  about  the  bedside. 

Long  years  of  experience  had  brought  discre- 


328  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

tion  to  this  particular  warhorse,  and  so  I  replied, 

"Acute  gastritis." 

I  did  not  propose  to  tell  all  I  thought  I  knew, 
or  to  issue  premature  bulletins.  I  wanted  time 
to  think.  I  scented  mystery  here,  and  perhaps 
crime,  and  let  him  who  will  condemn  my  taste 
as  a  depraved  one,  such  things  have  always  had 
an  overpowering  fascination  for  me. 

I  knew  that  some  hours  would  elapse  before 
I  would  be  called  upon  for  a  death  certificate, 
and  much  could  be  done  in  the  way  of  investi- 
gation in  that  time.  I  resolved  to  keep  my  own 
counsel  and  allow  future  developments  to  de- 
termine whether  or  when  I  should  place  the 
case  in  the  hands  of  the  coroner. 

But,  was  the  case  one  of  murder  or  suicide? 
This  question  I  proposed  to  solve  myself,  if  I 
could.  I  could  at  least  try  to  do  so,  before  turn- 
ing the  matter  over  to  the  authorities.  If  it 
were  suicide  there  might  be  reasons  satisfactory 
to  my  conscience  why  I  should  keep  my  counsel. 
There  are  times  when  the  physician  is  justified 
in  closing  and  forever  locking  the  door  of  the 
closet  that  contains  the  grinning  family  skeleton, 
I  may  be  telling  tales  out  of  school,  but  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  say  that  this  has  been  done  by  men 
whom  I  revere.     All  honor  to  the  profession  that 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  329 

has  the  courage  to  protect  the  fair  name  of  its 
clientele ! 

Of  course,  I  had  no  intention  of  conceahng 
what  I  knew,  if  the  case  should  prove  to  be  at 
all  doubtful,  nor  was  there  in  this  particular  case 
much  chance  of  any  circumstances  existing  which 
would  be  likely  to  impel  me  to  conceal  a  suicide. 
Should  the  case  prove  to  be  a  murder,  I  resolved 
to  at  once  notify  the  coroner,  no  matter  what  the 
circumstances  might  be. 

I  suspected  from  the  history  of  the  case 
that  it  was  murder,  not  suicide,  with  which  I  had 
to  deal. 

One  by  one  the  friends  and  curious  neighbors 
of  my  late  patient  filed  silently  out  of  the  room, 
till  none  remained  save  the  landlady  and  myself. 
Mrs.  Wharton  was  evidently  a  simple,  kindheart- 
ed  creature,  who  had  known  sorrow  of  her  own 
and  had  had  experience.  She  quietly  set  about 
performing  the  last  sad  offices  for  the  dead, 
whilst  I  proceeded  to  critically  inspect  the  dead 
man's  surroundings. 

Mrs.  Wharton  removed  the  pillow  from  be- 
neath the  head  of  the  corpse.  As  she  did  so  a 
letter  fell  from  the  pillow  upon  the  floor,  unno- 
ticed save  by  myself. 


330  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

The  interest  excited  in  my  mind  by  that  letter 
may  be  imagined.  Here  was  a  possible  answer 
to  the  question  I  had  been  asking  myself.  The 
opportunity  must  not  be  lost.  Under  the  pre- 
text of  helping  Mrs.  Wharton,  I  succeeded  in 
placing  my  foot  squarely  over  the  letter.  To 
drop  and  regain  my  handkerchief,  restoring  it 
to  my  pocket  with  that  much  to  be  desired  mis- 
sive concealed  in  its  folds,  was  sufficiently  easy, 
even  for  an  amateur. 

Before  departing  for  home,  I  made  a  few  os- 
tensibly casual  inquiries  regarding  the  dead  man. 
It  appeared  that  he  was  a  comparatively  new 
boarder  in  the  house,  and  had  said  that  he  had 
been  in  the  city  but  a  short  time.  He  had  not 
obtained  any  regular  employment,  but  seemed 
to  have  plenty  of  money,  Mrs.  Wharton  stated, 
adding,  ^'He  was  an  awfully  nice  young  man, 
Mr.  Peyton  was,  and  everybody  in  the  house 
liked  him." 

"Do  you  know  whether  or  not  he  was  mar- 
ried?" I  asked. 

"Oh,  my,  no,  he  wasn't  married!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Wharton.  "I'm  quite  sure  he  wasn't,  be- 
cause he  had  a  sweetheart — such  a  pretty  girl, 
too.     That's  her  picture  on  the  mantel." 

I  picked  up  the  photograph  and  found  that 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  331 

the  landlady  had  spoken  'M)y  the  card'^ — the 
dead  man's  sweetheart  was  indeed  "such  a  pret- 
ty ghl,"  of  the  dark  Spanish  t3T>e — ^with  a  face 
full  of  life  and  passion. 

"Ah/'  I  exclaimed  to  myself,  "I'll  wager  that 
we  have  found  'the  woman.'  Those  great  dark 
eyes,  that  massive  head  of  ebon  hair  and  those 
full,  sensuous  lips  'seem  to  me  to  fit  into  this 
mystery  very  accurately." 

"Where  does  the  young  woman  live?"  I 
asked. 

"Laws,  sir,  I  don't  know  where  she  lives,  but 
I  understand  that  she  works  somewhere  down 
town.  Mr.  Peyton  used  to  call  for  her,  so  one 
of  the  other  boarders  who  used  to  be  here  said, 
nearly  every  evening  at  closing  time,  at  one  of 
them  big  department  stores.  I  don't  know 
which  one,  for  sure,  but  I  think  it  was  the  Em- 
porium— or,   maybe,   it  was   Wurtzinger's." 

I  had  no  doubt  as  to  my  abihty  to  recognize 
the  original  of  the  photograph.  After  making 
a  mental  note  of  the  somewhat  faded  inscrip- 
tion upon  the  back,  I  replaced  the  picture  upon 
the  mantel. 

"To  Hartley,  from  Julie."  Julie  was  the  name 
that  the  dead  man  had  spoken,  almost  in  his  last 
agony.     Most  assuredly  I  must  find  Julie. 


332  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

As  may  be  imagined,  after  my  arrival 
home  I  wasted  none  of  the  remaining  precious 
moments  of  the  night  in  sleeping.  I  fairly 
dashed  into  my  study,  turned  on  the  lights, 
closed  and  locked  the  door  instinctively,  with- 
out rhyme  or  reason,  and  proceeded  to  read 
that  portentous  letter: 

''Hartley: — 

"Why  did  you  follow  me  to  N — ?  Why 
can  you  not  understand?  Why  do  you  per- 
sist in  harrowing  my  very  soul  in  the  attempt 
to  bring  back  by  force  and  arms  what  no  long- 
er exists?  I  have  told  you,  over  and  over 
again,  that  I  no  longer  love  you,  and  that  I 
love  another  with  all  the  strength  of  my  be- 
ing. Of  what  good  could  it  be  to  compel  me, 
as  you  are  trying  to  do,  to  continue  a  liaison 
which  I  have  come  to  detest,  and  which,  had  I 
been  more  worldly  wise  would  never  have  been 
formed?  And  you  threaten  to  expose  me — 
you,  who  have  nothing  to  lose,  while  I — oh, 
man,  man!  Why  can  you  not  see?  And  you 
say  you  love  me,  and  you  reproach  me  be- 
cause I  have  said  in  the  past — that  past  over 
which  I  fain  would  draw  a  veil  of  oblivion — 
that  I  loved  you.  Yes,  I  did  love  you — to  my 
shame  be  it  said,  the  more  shame  that  I  now 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  333 

know  that  the  burnmg  sentiment,  the  ardent 
affection  you  have  expressed  for  me  is  not 
love,  but  the  passion  of  the  brute  whose  Ufe 
revolves  around  his  own  selfish  gratification. 
You  will  say  this  is  not  true,  that  you  do  love 
me,  that  your  love  is  of  the  exalted  type.  For 
God's  sake  then,  do  what  you  can  to  show  me 
that  I  am  wrong !  By  that  love,  I  implore  you  to 
do  nothing  until  I  see  you.  Do  not  bring  the 
girl  you  have  so  often  called  your  Juhe,  to  open 
shame!  Oh,  HartW,  be  not  harsh  to  me! 
I  am  the  most  miserable  \\Tetch,  the  unhap- 
piest  being  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Do  not 
drive  me  to  desperation  and  death.  Do  not 
ruin  my  future.  Be  merciful,  I  implore  you. 
In  your  last  letter  you  threaten  to  denounce 
me  to  my  father,  that  you  will  send  him  my 
letters.  Oh,  why  did  I  ever  write  them? 
Hartle}^,  if  my  poor  old  father  should  ever 
read  those  letters,  inspired  though  they  were 
by  the  truest  love,  he  would  put  me  away  from 
him.  He  would  hate  me,  now  that  I  am  en- 
gaged to  marry  a  man  of  whom  he  is  very  fond. 
I  wTote  to  you  in  all  the  ardor  of  my  first  love; 
it  was  as  pure  and  as  true  as  it  was  deep,  but 
the  world  could  not,  would  not  understand.  I 
believed  you  when  you  said  you  loved  me, 


334  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

and  it  was  for  the  love  that  you  expressed 
that  I  adored  you.  I  put  on  paper  what  I 
should  not.  Had  my  love  been  one  of  head 
and  not  of  heart — had  I  not  believed  you  the 
noblest  of  men,  I  should  not  now  be  pleading 
for  mercy.  If  my  father  or  ]VIr.  X —  should 
see  those  fond  letters  to  you,  what  could  I  ex- 
pect but  a  revulsion  of  feeling?  If  any  other 
eyes  should  see  them,  what  would  not  be  said  of 
me?  Oh,  on  my  bended  knees  I  implore  you 
to  spare  me, — to  spare  those  who  love  me  and 
whom  I  love  with  my  whole  soul.  As  you 
hope  for  mercy  on  the  Judgment  Day,  do  not 
inform  on  me — do  not  make  my  name  a  scan- 
dal and  a  reproach !  Oh,  will  you  not  keep  my 
secret  from  the  world?  For  the  sake  of  my 
mother,  for  the  love  you  bear  your  own,  spare 
me!  Oh,  Hartley,  in  God's  name  hear  my 
prayer!  I  have  prayed  God  to  forgive  your 
cruel  threats — to  inspire  you  to  spare  me  from 
shame.  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  hear  me!, 
I  grow  mad!  I  have  been  ill,  very  ill,  ever 
since  I  received  your  last  awful,  threatening 
letter.  I  have  had  to  resort  to  drugs — ^some- 
thing I  should  not  have  taken,  and  my  brain 
is  on  fire.  I  feel  as  if  death  itself  would  be 
sweet.     Hartley,  oh.  Hartley ;  abuse  me,  villify 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  335 

me,  kill  me  if  you  will,  but  do  not  denounce 
me!  For  my  life  I  am  pleading — oh,  listen, 
listen,  for — must  I  say  it? — for  your  own  safe- 
ty hear  me.  I  cannot  stand  everything.  Do 
not  drive  me  to  madness  and  death — or  worse! 
Have  pity  on  her  whom  you  once  called — your 
Julie." 

As  I  read  this  heart  rending  missive  my  late 
patient's  case  did  not  seem  so  mysterious.  I 
do  not  hesitate  to  say,  moreover,  that  the  mem- 
oiy  of  his  last  horrible  agonies  was  pleasanter 
to  contemplate  than  it  had  been. 

**The  man  who  inspired  that  letter,"  I  ex- 
claimed aloud,  "never  committed  suicide.  He 
was  not  man  enough.  That  fellow  died  hke 
a  poisoned  rat  in  a  hole, — if  the  evidence  counts 
for  anything." 

Having  thus  become  more  reconciled  to  the 
death  of  the  late  Mr.  Peyton,  I  was  less  in- 
clined than  ever  to  be  in  haste  in  promoting 
any  legal  intermeddling  with  what  had  begun 
to  appear  a  just  dispensation  of  Providence. 
But  I  was  nevertheless  determined  to  see  the 
matter  to  its  conclusion.  I  was  bound  to  find 
the  hand  that  had  "poisoned  the  rat."  I  could 
decide  what  course  to  pursue  afterward.    I  was 


336  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

confident  that  I  knew  for  whom  I  must  look, 
but  where?    Where  was  ''Julie?" 

After  a  hurried  breakfast  I  began  my  quest. 
As  luck  would  have  it  I  decided  to  visit  the  Em- 
porium first.  I  confess  that  when  I  entered  the 
colossal  establishment  and  saw  its  large  num- 
ber of  female  employes  I  began  to  fear  that, 
with  only  the  given  name  of  the  person  I  was 
seeking  and  a  mental  reproduction  of  her  photo- 
graph to  guide  me,  my  task  was  liable  to  be 
something  like  the  proverbial  search  for  the 
needle  in  the  haystack. 

For  more  than  two  hours  I  strolled  about  the 
Emporium,  covertly  studying  the  faces  of  the 
women  clerks  and  affecting  an  indifference  which 
I  did  not  feel,  without  seeing  any  one  who  could 
by  any  possibility  have  been  taken  for  the  orig- 
inal of  the  picture.  Black  hair  and  dark  eyes — 
the  possessors  of  which  were  not  seldom  beauti- 
ful— were  there  in  plenty,  but  none  that  could 
be  compared  with  those  I  sought. 

I  was  about  to  go  to  the  office  of  the  estab- 
lishment to  inquire  there,  under  the  pretext  of 
seeking  a  witness  of  an  accident  case,  wheii  I 
caught  sight  of  one  of  the  floor  walkers,  a  Mr. 
Courtney,  who  chanced  to  be  an  old  patient  of 
mine. 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  337 

"All,"  I  thought,  ''here  is  some  one  who  may 
help  me." 

Mr.  Courtney  greeted  me  warmly,  and  replied 
courteously,  when  I  asked  for  a  private  inter- 
view, 

"Certainly,  doctor,  step  this  way." 

Having  seated  ourselves  on  a  sofa  in  an  out 
of  the  way  corner  of  the  store,  I  said, 

"^Ir.  Courtney,  for  important  reasons,  which 
I  am  sure  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  give  you,  I 
am  seeking  a  certain  young  ladj^,  who  may  or 
may  not  be  employed  in  this  establishment.  I 
have  been  compelled  to  ask  your  assistance  be- 
cause I  have  only  her  description  to  rely  upon, 
and  kjiow  merely  her  given  name — 'Julie.'  " 

I  then  proceeded  to  describe  the  young  woman 
of  the  photograph. 

My  friend  smiled  and  said, 

"Your  task  is  an  easy  one,  doctor.  There's 
only  one  of  her  kind,  in  this  establishment,  at 
least.  Do  j^ou  wish  to  speak  to  the  young  wo- 
man?" 

I  was  somew^hat  taken  aback  by  the  sudden- 
ness "^dth  which  success  promised  to  reward  my 
search. 

"W — ^why,  yes,  if  it  would  not  be  too  much 
trouble,"  I  replied. 


338  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

Mr.  Courtney  rapped  sharply  for  a  messenger, 
and  one  promptly  appeared. 

"Tell  Miss  Morales,  in  the  lace  department, 
that  I  wish  to  see  her  here  at  once." 

The  messenger  departed  on  his  mission,  leav- 
ing me  wondering  how  I  had  missed  seeing  the 
object  of  my  quest.  I  recalled  having  lingered 
for  quite  a  while  at  the  lace  department. 

The  messenger  did  his  errand  quickly  and  re- 
turned. 

'Tlease,  sir.  Miss  Morales  is  at  home  sick.  The 
lace  department  manager  says  she  hain't  been 
dovvii  to  the  store  for  three  or  four  days." 

*'Why,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Courtney,  "come  to 
think  of  it,  I  haven't  seen  her  for  several  days. 
I  had  made  no  especial  note  of  her  absence,  how- 
ever, as  there  are  so  many  women  employes  in 
the  store,  and  the  lace  department  isn't  on 
my  floor.  If  you  wish,  doctor,  I  will  ascertain 
where  she  lives.  We  keep  a  record  of  the  resi- 
dences of  all  our  employes,  you  know." 

Mr.  Comtney  went  to  the  office  and  returned 
with  a  card  upon  which  was  WTitten,  "Miss 
Julie  Morales,  No.—  M—  Street." 

After  thanking  my  friend  and  asking  him  to 
consider  my  inquiiy  as  of  a  confidential  nature, 
I  wended  my  way  to  the  address  given  me. 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  339 

No. —  M —  Street  proved  to  be  located  some 
distance  from  the  business  part  of  the  city.  The 
house  presented  the  semi-respectable  appear- 
ance of  a  boarding-house  of  the  cheaper  grade. 
A  smirking,  frowsy,  freckle-faced  Irish  maid 
opened  the  door  in  answer  to  my  ring,  and  in- 
formed me  that  ^'Miss  Morales  was  to  home"  and 
she  ''guessed,"  in  her  room. 

The  maid  ushered  me  into  the  stuffy,  cookery 
smelling  parlor,  dusted  a  rickety,  shabby  genteel, 
hair-cloth  covered  chair  with  her  apron,  and 
asked  me  to  be  seated. 

"Who  shall  I  be  after  tellin*  Miss  Morales  as 
wants  to  see  her?" 

"Never  mind  my  name.  Just  tell  her  I  am 
from  the  Emporium." 

The  maid  soon  returned  and  informed  me 
that  Miss  Morales  w^ould  be  "down  in  a  little 
while." 

I  had  begun  to  grow  somewhat  restless,  and 
was  wondering  whether  the  fair  Miss  Morales 
had  not  become  suspicious  and  eluded  me, 
when  there  was  a  soft  rustle  of  skirts  in  the 
hall,  the  door  opened,  and  there  stood  the 
original  of  the  photograph — hollow  eyed,  wan 
and  haggard,  with  deep  care  lines  about  the 


340  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

mouth,  but  still  undoubtedly  "Julie,"  and  still 
surpassingly  lovely. 

"You  wished  to  see  me,  sir,"  she  said,  in  a 
voice  which  was  somewhat  tremulous,  and 
unquestionably  that  of  one  who  had  suffered 
much. 

"Miss  Morales,  I  believe." 

"That  is  my  name,  sir." 

"I  owe  you  an  apology  for  the  Uttle  decep- 
tion," I  said,  handing  her  my  professional  card. 
"As  you  see,  I  am  not  from  the  Emporium, 
although  I  obtained  the  address  from  my  friend 
Mr.  Courtney,  at  that  estabhshment." 

Her  hand  trembled  as  she  took  the  card,  and 
she  gazed  at  it  fearfully,  as  though  apprehen- 
sive of  danger. 

"Shall  we  not  be  seated?"  I  asked,  motion- 
ing to  a  settee.  The  young  woman  acquiesced, 
almost  mechanically.  Seating  myself  beside 
her,  I  said: 

"Miss  Morales,  while  I  am  a  total  stranger 
to  you,  I  wish  you  would  not  construe  my  visit 
and  what  I  am  about  to  say  to  3^ou  as  either 
impertinent  or  menacing  to  yourself.  I  am 
here  with  the  best  of  intentions,  but  I  must 
discuss  with  you  a  matter  which,  you  may 
be   assured,    is   of   vital    importance    to    you. 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  341 

Anything  you  may  say  will  be  treated  by  me 
as  strictly  confidential — as,  in  short,  a  pro- 
fessional secret." 

She  gazed  at  me  helplessly,  wdth  the  dumb, 
haunting  dread  of  impending  disaster  in  her 
beautiful  eyes. 

"You  are,  or  have  been,  I  believe,"  I  con- 
tinued, "a  very  close  friend  of  Mr.  Hartley 
Peyton's." 

The  poor  girl's  face  became  ghastly  pale, 
and  I  feared  she  was  going  to  faint,  as  she  stam- 
mered,  weakly, — 

"Ye — yes,  sir.  We  are,  or  at  least  we  were, 
friends — we  w^ere  very  good  friends." 

"Well,"  I  continued,  "it  may  interest  you 
to  know  that  I  was  called  to  see  him  profes- 
sionally last  night,  and  found  him  very  ill." 

"Then  he  is  much  better  now;  he  is  quite 
recovered,  is  he  not,  doctor?"  she  exclaimed 
eagerly,  springing  to  her  feet. 

"I  regret  to  say  that  he  is  not  better.  In 
fact,"  I  repHed,  "Mr.  Peyton  is  — " 

"My  God,  doctor!"  she  cried,  "he  is  not 
dead?" 

"Miss  Morales,  Hartley  Peyton  died  at  two 
o'clock    this    morning."     The    young    woman 


342  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  fell  back  upon 
the  settee  in  a  state  of  almost  total  collapse. 

"Miss  Morales,"  I  continued,  ''the  point 
which  mutually  interests  us  is  that  the  cir- 
cumstances surrounding  Mr.  Peyton's  death 
were  very  peculiar  and  unusual,  in  fact,  sus- 
picious in  the  extreme.  I  will  go  further  and 
state  that  I  have  formed  a  very  definite  opin- 
ion of  the  cause  of  his  death." 

Thrown  completely  off  her  guard  by  fright, 
the  poor  girl  moaned,  ''Oh,  doctor,  you  sure- 
ly do  not  suspect  that  I — you  surely  do  not 
believe  that  I  could  ever  have — " 

"I  am  not  at  present  expressing  any  views 
as  to  the  peculiar  agencies  which  acted  di- 
rectly or  indirectly  in  causing  the  unfortunate 
man's  demise.  I  have  merely  stated  to  you 
the  fact  of  his  death,  and  that  I  have  arrived 
at  a  certain  conclusion  as  to  the  cause  of  it. 

"Miss  Morales,  you  may  place  the  most  im- 
plicit confidence  in  me  in  anything  you  may 
say  to  me.  Any  communications  j^ou  may 
make  shall  be  held  sacred.  I  have  not  as  yet 
discussed  the  unfortunate  affair  with  any  one 
but  yourself.  It  may  rest  entirely  with  you 
as  to  whether  or  not  I  do  so  hereafter." 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  343 

''What  do  you  wish  me  to  do — what  am  I  to 
say?"  she  asked,  faintly. 

''Nothing  here,"  I  rephed.  "Your  present 
surroundings  are  by  no  means  favorable  to 
discussion  of  topics  of  vital  importance,  least 
of  all  to  confidential  communications.  I  shall 
therefore  take  the  liberty  of  asking  you  to 
come  to  my  office" — I  looked  at  my  watch, 
and  saw  that  my  office  hours  were  long  past 
due — "at    ten    o'clock    to-morrow    morning." 

The  girl  suddenly  dropped  her  hands  from 
her  face,  straightened  up  in  her  seat,  and, 
with  the  gleam  of  battle  in  her  wonderful  eyes, 
said,  tensely, 

"Why  should  I  feel  called  upon  to  make  an 
appointment  with  you,  an  entire  stranger,  for 
the  purpose  of  discussing  a  matter  which,  after 
all,  does  not  in  the  least  concern  me.  Mr. 
Peyton's  death,  and  your  opinion  of  its  cause 
are  to  me  of  no  consequence  whatever.  Fur- 
thermore, your  presence  here  is  in  the  highest 
degree  impertinent  and  uncalled  for." 

"Miss  Morales,"  I  said,  quietly.  "There  are 
several  reasons  why  you  should  make  and  keep 
the  appointment  I  have  requested.  In  the  first 
place,  it  is  optional  with  me  as  to  whether  or  not 
the  sudden  death  of  your  friend,  Mr.  Peyton, 


344  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

shall  be  turned  over  to  the  coroner  for  investiga- 
tion.    It  may  prove  to  be  my  duty  to  do  so.'* 

''What  do  I  care,  whether  the  case  is  turned 
over  to  the  coroner  or  not?"  she  replied,  her 
jaws  setting  combatively. 

''Simply  because  there  is  no  telling  in  what 
direction  the  investigation  may  lead,  nor  to 
w^hom  suspicion  may  be  directed,"  I  retorted. 

"Let  it  lead  where  it  may,  for  aught  I  care," 
she  said,  defiantly. 

"Miss  Morales,  I  will  be  more  to  the  point. 
A  letter  was  found  beneath  Mr.  Peyton's  pillow, 
which,  should  it  fall  into  the  coronor's  hands, 
might  suggest  all  sorts  of  foohsh  ideas  to  the 
minds  of  the  ignoramuses  who  compose  the 
average  coronor's  jury — minds  to  which  senti- 
ment is  an  unknown  quantity.  The  letter  was 
signed,  'JuHe,'  a  signature  that  corresponds 
very  accurately  with  one  which  is  inscribed 
on  the  back  of  a  photograph  of  a  certain  young 
lady  that  was  found  on  the  mantel  in  the  dead 
man's  room." 

The  poor  girl  sank  limply  back  upon  the 
settee,  the  picture  of  helpless  miseiy.  I  laid 
my  hand  gently  upon  her  beautiful  head,  resting 
it  there  for  a  brief  moment,  and  then  passed 
quietly  out. 


A  MAITER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  345 

Being  somewhat  versed  in  matters  psycho- 
logic, I  had  not  the  sHghtest  doubt  that  the  fair 
JuUe  would  keep  the  rather  one  sided  appoint- 
ment made  the  afternoon  before.  I  confess, 
however,  that  her  promptness  surprised  me  a 
Uttle. 

The  clock  upon  my  office  mantel  was  just 
striking  the  hour  of  ten,  when  Miss  Morales 
was  announced.  I  directed  my  attendant  to 
usher  her  in,  at  the  same  time  giving  instructions 
that  I  was  not  to  be  disturbed  mitil  further 
orders. 

As  my  beautiful  visitor  took  the  seat  I  prof- 
fered her,  I  was  struck  by  her  calm,  composed 
demeanor.  Her  poise  was  perfect,  and  she 
showed  not  the  shghtest  trace  of  excitement, 
but  responded  to  my  poHte  ''Good  morning," 
as  if  her  business  were  of  the  most  matter  of 
fact  nature. 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair,  saying,  ''I  am  very 
glad  you  concluded  to  call  upon  me,  ^liss, 
Morales,  and  assure  you  that  your  confidence 
has  not  been  misplaced.  There  is  hardly  anj^ 
need  for  preliminaries.  Our  business  together 
this  morning  is  unpleasant  at  best,  and  the 
sooner  it  is  over  the  more  agreeable  it  will  be 
for  us  both,  I  am  sure.    You  doubtless  have 


346  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

something  to  say  to  me  apropos  of  our  conver- 
sation of  yesterday.  You  will  find  me  a  good 
listener — and  a  sympathetic  one." 

She  sat  for  a  moment  gazing  out  of  the  open 
window,  through  which  the  glorious  sun  and 
balmy  air  of  an  ideal  Spring  morning  were 
pouring,  then,  turning  and  looking  me  squarely 
in  the  eyes,  said,  as  calmly  as  though  entering 
upon   a   discussion   of   things   common   place: 

''Since  you  left  me,  yesterday  afternoon, 
doctor,  I  have  passed  through  mental  and 
physical  agonies  which,  were  I  the  worst  of 
criminals,  should  have  been  sufficient  expiation 
for  anything  I  have  ever  done.  I  now  feel  that 
nothing  which  could  possibly  happen  would 
have  any  terrors  for  me — that  the  worst  must 
surely  be  over." 

I  hstened  in  the  greatest  astonishment. 
This  was  hardly  the  piteous  supplicant  I  had 
expected. 

"Pray  do  not  think  that  my  sufferings  have 
resulted  from  the  operations  of  a  guilty  con- 
science. I  have  not  reproached  myself  for 
having  taken  advantage  of  humanity's  inalien- 
able right  of  self-defense.  But  I  w^as  only  a 
poor,  weak  woman  after  all,  and  the  dread  of 
punishment  at  human  hands,  even  though  what 


A  iMATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  347 

I  had  done  was  justifiable  before  God,  terri- 
fied me. 

"However,  I  lived  through  the  ordeal  of  last 
night,  and  prospective  punishment  has  now  no 
longer  any  terrors  for  me.  Face  it  I  will,  if 
face  it  I  must. 

"I  have  not  come  to  offer  any  arguments  in 
defense  of  any  act  I  may  have  committed,  nor 
do  I  intend  to  beg  for  mercy  at  the  hands  of 
the  onl}^  person  Vviio,  thus  far,  is  in  a  position 
to  accuse  me  of  a  crime.  Still  less  have  I  come 
here  for  the  purpose  of  telling  you  my  story,  for 
there  is  really  nothing  to  add  to  what  you  already 
know  or  have  surmised,  and  it  would  not  be 
fair  to  ask  me  to  review  the  events  the  culmina- 
tion of  which  you  witnessed  night  before  last. 
My  soul  has  been  harrowed  enough.  It  has  re- 
ceived its  baptism  of  fire.  I  have  come  merely 
to  say  to  you  that  I  do  not  wish  you  to  com- 
pound any  felonies  with  your  own  conscience, 
or  risk  your  reputation — or  perhaps  even  your 
Uberty — by  protecting  one  who  is  an  absolute 
stranger  to  you,  and  not  entitled  to  the  slightest 
consideration  on  your  part. 

''If,  knowing  the  circumstances — and  you 
must  know  them,  after  attending  Mr.  Peyton 
professionally  and  having  read  a  certain  letter 


348  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

— you  believe  it  to  be  your  duty  to  turn  my 
case  over  to  the  proper  authorities,  I  am  willing 
to  have  you  do  so,  and  shall  abide  by  the 
consequences.  I  do  not  say  this  as  one  who 
'has  no  longer  anything  to  live  for,  but  as  one 
who  has  become  reconciled  to  whatever  fate 
has  in  store  for  her. 

"It  may  be  incomprehensible  to  you,  doctor, 
but  life  and  liberty  are  especially  sweet  to  me 
— much  sweeter  to-day,  than  they  were  prior — 
well,  just  prior  to  the  events  of  the  day  before 
yesterday.  I  am  capable  of  forgetting  the 
past  and  enjoying  such  happiness  as  the  future 
may  have  in  store  for  me.  For  this  much,  and 
for  the  circumstances  which  led  to  our  ac- 
quaintance, I  am  indebted  to  the  hot  Latin 
blood  with  which  my  father  endowed  me.  Last 
night,  the  colder  elements  of  my  heredity  held 
full  sway  and  I  was  afraid.  To-day,  sir,  I  am 
a  Morales.  Had  you  known  my  father  you 
would  understand  what  that  means. 

''Doctor,  it  is  for  you  to  do  as  your  conscience 
dictates.  If  you  decide  that  it  is  your  duty  to 
relegate  a  certain  matter  to  the  authorities  for 
investigation  I  shall  not  blame  you.  Further- 
more, I  shall  not  attempt  to  escape,  as  was  my 
first    impulse    when    you    left    me    yesterday 


A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY  349 

afternoon.  To  merely  escape  punishment  would 
not  be  enough;  I  must  remain  free  from  suspi- 
cion, or  life  means  nothing  to  me,  absolutely 
nothing!" 

The  young  woman  rose  from  her  chair  and 
stood  in  calm  expectancy'.  Her  attitude  was 
so  entirely  different  from  what  I  had  antici- 
pated from  the  character  of  the  letter  which  I 
had  in  my  possession,  and  from  what  was 
evidently  an  exceedingly  emotional  tempera- 
ment, that  I  sat  silently  gazing  at  her  for  some 
time.  I  finally  rose  to  my  feet  and  was  about 
to  reply,  when  there  came  a  sharp  rap  upon 
the  door  of  my  consultation  room.  I  opened 
the  door  and  found  my  attendant  standing 
there  with  a  yellow  paper  in  his  extended  hand. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  I  asked,  rather 
impatiently. 

'Tardon  me  for  disturbing  j^ou,  sir,  but 
there's  a  man  here  from  the  undertaker's, 
with  a  certificate  for  you  to  sign,  and  he  says 
it  is  important,  because  the  funeral  is  this 
afternoon,  sir?" 

I  took  the  ominous  yellow  form  from  the 
man,  closed  the  door  and  returned  to  my  desk. 
With  the  paper  still  in  my  hand  I  turned  to 
my  fair  visitor.     She  paled  perceptibly,  and  I 


350  A  MATTER  OF  PROFESSIONAL  SECRECY 

fancied,  trembled  a  little,  but  returned  my 
gaze  unflinchingly,  although  I  was  sure  she 
knew. 

''Game  to  the  core!"  I  thought. 

I  turned  slowly  to  my  desk,  picked  up  a  pen 
and  wrote — "Ptomaine  poisoning — Acute  Gas- 
tritis," then,  without  a  tmnge  of  conscience, 
deliberately  signed  my  name  to  the  "yellow 
peril"  and  rang  for  my  attendant. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

THE  LOVE  OF  TIS-SA-ACK  AND  TU-TOCH-A-NU-LAH 


''Ah-wi-yah — the  Beautiful,"  she  was  once 
justly  called.  And  now  that  the  weight  of  many, 
many  years  bore  heavily  upon  her,  the  warriors 
of  the  tribe,  recalling  the  traditions  of  the  past, 
still  called  her  'The  Beautiful."  But  who 
would  ever  think  that  the  bent  and  withered  old 
squaw  was  once  the  pride  of  her  tribe?  The 
scorching  suns  of  many  summers,  and  the  keen, 
chilhng  blasts  of  many  cruel  winters  had  indeed 
made  sad  havoc  in  the  beauty  of  Yosemite's 
queen. 

No  one  knew  how  old  Ah-wi-yah  was — no  one 
knew  when  she  first  came  to  the  valley  of  Yo- 
eemite.  There  was  none  of  all  her  people  who 
could  recall  the  time  when  she  was  not  already 
very,  very  old  and  wrinkled.  The  most  vener- 
able sagamore  of  the  tribe  remembered  that  the 
old  squaw  was  regarded  as  the  only  H\'ing  reUc 
of  an  age  of  by-gone  majesty,  when  he  was  yet 
scarcely  more  than  a  small  pappoose,  boarded 


351 


352  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

and  strapped  with  thongs  to  his  mother's  back. 
He  recalled  that  it  was  she  who  smiled  upon  him, 
and  patted  his  head  approvingly  on  the  glor- 
ious and  never  to   be  forgotten  day  when  his 
little  hands  and  feeble  arms  first  drew  a  slender, 
feathered  arrow  to  its  barbed  head,  and  from  a 
child's  bow  sent  it  hurtling  on  its  deadly  flight 
at  a  startled  rabbit  that  traversed  his  path.     He 
remembered  too,  that  the  venerable  Ah-wi-yah, 
standing  erect  before  her  lodge  with  fiery,  flash- 
ing eyes,  led  the  wild,  fierce  shout  of  triumph 
when  he,  grown  to  the  stature  of  a  brave,  came 
home   from  the   warpath  with  his  first  scalp. 
And  it  was  the  old  squaw  who,  with  her  own 
wrinkled  hands,  hung  the  still  bleeding  trophy 
on  his  lodge  pole,  and  foretold  that  the  ghastly, 
gory  emblem  of  his  valor  would  have  many, 
many  children. 

Yes,  Ah-wi-yah  was  very,  very  old — so  old 
that  she  recalled  the  time  when  the  fair  Po-ho-ho 
waterfall  was  but  a  silvery,  gleaming  ribbon  no 
larger  than  a  stalk  of  maize — so  old  that  she  re- 
membered the  days  when  the  Mission  Fathers 
had  not  yet  come  to  the  Land  of  the  Golden 
Sunset. 

White  as  the  snows  of  the  Sierran  winter  was 
the  hair  of  Ah-wi-yah,  but  her  eye — so  won- 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE  353 

drous  dark — was  bright  and  piercing  beneath 
her  shaggy,  wrinkled  brow^,  and  her  voice  was 
sweet  and  flute-like;  clear  as  a  wandering  echo 
amid  the  towering,  craggy  hills  of  the  smiling 
beautiful  valley  wherein  her  tribe  had  Hved 
and  died  for  unnumbered  ages. 

Ah-wi-yah  was  often  the  counsellor  of  the 
chieftains  of  the  tribe  for,  squaw  though  she 
was,  she  alone  knew  the  records  of  the  more 
glorious  and  war-Uke  past  of  her  fast  diminish- 
ing kindred.  The  old  squaw  hved  not  in  the 
dull  and  spiritless  present,  though  her  aged 
tongue  was  wise  and  crafty.  She  lived  in  the 
glorious  olden  days,  that  wondrous,  shadowy 
past  that  held  for  her  such  memories  of  long 
vanished  greatness — and  who  knows  what  sw^eet 
and  tender  romance? 

When  I,  a  curious  tourist,  wished  to  study 
the  wonderful  traditions  of  the  tribe,  the  war- 
riors said:  "Oh  pale  face,  there  is  none  left  to 
tell  thee  of  our  glorious  and  deathless  past  but 
Ah-wi-yah,  the  Beautiful.  In  the  vast  store- 
house of  her  unfailing  memory  there  are  many 
marvellous  and  beautiful  legends.  Go  to  her — 
the  wise  old  squaw — she  will  tell  them  to  thee, 
we  doubt  not  gladly." 

And  the  white  haired  squaw  with  the  flute-like 


354  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

voice  told  me  many  thrilling,  beautiful  legends 
of  the  days  when  her  tribe  was  strong  and  mighty 
— the  days  when  the  Manitou  never  forgot  his 
chosen  people,  the  children  of  the  lustrous  Sun. 
Of  all  the  legends  that  Ah-wi-yah  told  the  won- 
dering pale  face,  there  was  none  so  beautiful  as 
the  love  of  Tis-sa-ack  and  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah. 
This  I  will  relate  just  as  the  wonderful  story- 
teller, who  has  long  since  been  gathered  to  her 
fathers,  and  whose  fragile  bones  are  now  mould- 
ering in  a  dark  and  gloomy  canyon  of  the  tower- 
ing Sierras,  told  it  me. 

'The  memory  of  man,  O  Pale  Face,  goeth 
not  so  far  back  into  the  distant  past  as  the  happy 
days  when  the  children  of  the  glorious  Sun  first 
built  their  blazing  council  fires  in  the  beautiful, 
mountain  locked  valley  of  the  Yosemite.  In 
that  unremembered  time  the  baleful  glitter  of 
the  white  sails  of  the  accursed,  maraudmg  pale 
face  had  not  yet  defiled  the  pure  blue  waters  of 
the  broad  Pacific  The  Sierras  were  illumined 
by  the  red  glare  of  the  watch-fires  of  a  mighty, 
heroic  race  of  red-men,  and  the  waters  laughed 
and  sang  in  joyful  cadence  with  the  dancing  of 
their  light  canoes. 

''And  in  those  joyous  days  the  Manitou  smiled 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE  355 

upon  his  chosen  people,  for  they  were  as  yet 
pure,  and  uncontaminated  by  the  conflicting 
creeds,  multitudinous  diseases,  bad  fire-water 
and  worse  morals  of  the  wicked  white  man.  The 
Indian  was  a  fearless,  noble  warrior  and  a  man, 
roaming  the  trackless  woods  and  traversing  the 
waters  of  his  ancient  ancestral  home  as  free  as 
the  wild  birds  of  his  native  hills. 

"In  that  far  distant  time  happiness  hovered 
hke  a  golden  cloud  over  the  lodges  of  the  redman, 
for  within  all  was  peace,  and  comfort,  and  plenty. 
Neither  cold  nor  hunger  came  like  an  evil  spirit 
to  bring  woe  to  the  redman's  bosom.  The 
forests  were  alive  with  mighty  game,  and  he 
was  a  poor  and  lowly  hunter  indeed,  who  could 
not  show  that  acknowledged  badge  of  fearless 
courage,  a  necklace  made  of  the  cruel  claws 
of  the  fierce  grizzly  bear.  The  lakes  and  streams 
were  teeming  with  glittering  fish,  in  number  like 
the  falling  leaves  of  the  yellow  autumn,  many- 
hued  and  brilliant  as  the  rainbow. 

'Tor  him  who  fain  would  seek  for  glory,  there 
was  many  a  gory  scalp  lock  to  be  fairly  and  haz- 
ardously earned  in  fierce,  relentless  battle,  while 
for  the  feeble,  timid  spirit  who  shrank  from  the 
hardships  and  dangers  of  war,  the  warm  and 


356  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

fertile  soil  promised  the  husbandman  rich  re- 
wards of  nutritious  maize. 

"On  the  green- verdured  slopes  and  in  the 
broad,  smihng  valleys  gleamed  many  a  com- 
fortable wigwam  of  poles  and  dried  skins  of 
wild  beasts,  wrought  with  the  weird  hieroglj^hs 
of  the  tribe — strange,  ancient  characters  and 
picture-\\Titing,  uninteUigible  even  to  the  Indian 
of  to-day.  The  smoke  of  a  thousand  lodges 
rose  and  mingled  with  the  snowy  vapor — 
the  fleeces  of  the  sky — mingled  with  the  billowy 
flocks  and  herds  of  the  Manitou. 

''The  valley  of  the  sparkling  Yosemite — 
that  wonderful  stream  of  liquid  silver  whose 
mystic  source  is  in  the  clouds,  far,  far  beyond 
any  trail  of  man — ^was  the  earthly  paradise  of 
the  redman  of  the  mountains.  To  say  that 
the  great  ineffable  Beyond — the  land  of  Manitou 
the  Mighty — ^w^as  fairer  than  the  beauteous 
vaUey  of  the  Yosemite,  was  the  utmost  limit 
of  the  Indian's  faith  in  heaven — those  Happy 
Hunting  Grounds  to  which  death  alone  could 
transport  him.  Aye,  it  w^as  the  farthest  limit 
of  the  redman's  imagination. 

''Chief  among  the  sachems  of  his  tribe,  was 
Tu-toch-a-nu-lah.     Tall  was  he,  Hke  the  tower- 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE  357 

iiig  redwood;  strong  were  his  limbs  like  those 
of  a  mighty  oak;  rugged  were  his  broad  shoul- 
ders as  the  frowning,  beethng  cliffs  of  the 
mountain  locked  home  of  his  people.  There 
was  none  so  bold  and  so  brave  as  he — the 
mightiest  hunter  and  most  daring  warrior  of 
all  his  tribe.  Within  his  lodge  there  hung  the 
scalps  of  countless  enemies,  and  the  claws  of 
many  a  savage  bear  of  the  mountains.  Brave? 
Had  he  not  slain  by  a  single  blow  with  his 
keen  hunting  knife  the  terrible  panther — alone 
and  single-handed  had  he  not  slain  him?  And 
where  was  the  lodge  that  was  large  enough  to 
hold  the  wide,  branching  horns  of  the  kingly 
elk  he  had  brought  panting  to  the  earth  with 
his  deadly,  slender-shafted  arrows?  Straight 
was  his  handsome  form  as  the  ashen  spear- 
shaft,  and  elastic  as  the  bow  of  hickory ;  swifter 
was  his  moccasined  foot  than  the  red  deer's; 
lighter  his  step  than  the  mountain  lion's; 
bright  was  his  piercing  eye  as  the  first  beams 
of  the  rising  sun;  keen  was  his  vision  as  that 
of  the  king  of  birds — the  great  w^ar  eagle. 
There  was  not  among  all  the  Sun's  brave 
children  a  chief  so  nobly  grand  as  he. 

'Tar  up   on   the   side  of  a   steep,   wooded 
mountain  w^as  the  home  lodge  of  Tu-toch-a-nu- 


358  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

lah.  Here,  like  an  eagle  in  his  cloud -kissed 
eyrie,  he  watched  over  the  welfare  of  his  people 
as  became  a  wise  and  mighty  sachem  who  loved 
them  and  was  well  beloved  by  them. 

''Beloved  by  them?  Aye,  and  passing  well, 
for  he  was  their  loyal,  ever-ready  champion, 
their  benefactor  and  protector,  and  they — 
being  red,  not  white — were  grateful. 

"Ranging  over  the  fertile  upper  plains,  the 
mighty  sachem  herded  droves  on  droves  of  the 
graceful  red  deer,  that  his  people  might  choose 
the  best  and  fattest  for  the  feast.  High  up 
amid  the  rocks  were  his  flocks  of  big-horned 
mountain  sheep — the  picturesque  and  shaggy 
cimarron.  The  savage  bear  he  gave  not  peace, 
for  he  drove  him  forth  from  his  rocky  lair  that 
the  braves  of  the  tribe  might  win  laurels  in 
the  hunt. 

"Sometimes,  when  the  skies  had  been  unkind 
and  the  Sun  Father  had  scorched  the  delicate 
leaves  and  fragrant  blossoms  and  shrivelled 
the  tender  stalks  of  the  young  maize  for  many 
days,  the  wise  and  thoughtful  sachem  brought 
forth  the  magic  red  pipe  he  had  fashioned  in 
the  far  off  land  of  the  fierce  Dacotahs.  As  he 
silently  sat  and  smoked  the  sweetly  pungent 
killikinnic,  the  billowy  clouds  of  sweet  incense 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEISIITE  359 

were  gently  wafted  to  the  sapphire  skies  and 
kissed  them,  so  tenderly  and  lovingly  that  they 
wept  for  very  joy.  And  those  bhssful  tears 
fell  as  a  soothing,  gentle  rain  upon  the  drooping 
maize,  and  trees  and  flowers,  until  they  raised 
their  fainting,  almost  dying  heads  in  joy  and 
gladness.  Then  the  vast  choirs  of  brilHant- 
hued  singing  birds  awoke  once  more  the  musical 
echoes  of  the  sighing  forest,  and  sweetly  sang 
the  praises  of  the  mighty  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah, 
bravest  and  most  tender-hearted  of  his  race — 
gi'eatest  of  all  the  proud  and  haughty  Yo- 
semite. 

"When  the  drought  was  over  and  the  parched 
and  thirsty  soil  was  once  more  moist,  the 
fragrant  smoke  billows  of  the  magic  pipe  floated 
bhthely,  airily  up  to  the  fiercely  glaring  sun  and 
brought  dowTi  millions  of  warm,  yet  softened 
rays  through  the  clear  blue  air  that  soon  ripened 
the  luxuriant  crops  into  gold — gold  that  the 
joyful  women  should  gather  with  singing  and 
merry  making  in  the  harvest-time  to  be. 

When  the  mighty  sachem  was  happy,  and 
laughed,  the  Yosemite  danced  and  sparkled  in 
the  sunhght  as  though  rejoicing  with  him,  its 
winding  way  rippHng  into  pleasant,  cheery 
smiles.     When  he  sighed,   the  soughing  wind 


360  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

wailed  mournfully  through  the  cone-laden  boughs 
of  the  tall  bread  pines,  or  howled  dismally 
do"VMi  the  dark  and  gloomy  canyons  Uke  the 
spirit  of  some  tortured  brave.  When  he  spake, 
his  voice  was  sometimes  hke  the  soft,  gentle 
cooing  of  the  ring-dove,  at  others  like  the  deep, 
sonorous  voice  of  the  cataract.  But  when  he 
raging  smote  to  death  the  giant  grizzly,  or 
fiercely  tore  the  scalp  lock  from  the  skull  of  an 
enemy,  his  fearful  war  whoop  rang  out  among 
the  crags  and  gorges  of  the  Sierras  hke  the 
loud  mutterings  of  the  thunder,  aye,  hke  the 
awful  rumbling  and  crashing  of  the  earthquake. 

"None  there  was  in  his  tribe  so  learned  as 
Tu-toch-a-nu-lah,  for  the  smoke  of  his  pipe 
oft  brought  him  wonderful  visions  that  the  eye 
of  none  other  ever  saw.  Through  the  blue, 
odorous  haze  of  the  burning  kilhkinnic  the 
Manitou  had  many  a  time  spoken  words  of 
wisdom  to  his  favorite  child. 

"And  the  noble  sachem  had  travelled  much. 
The  soft  tread  of  his  moccasined  feet  had  been 
felt  by  all  the  land  from  Oregon  to  the  guK, 
north  and  south,  and  from  the  Father  of  Waters 
to  the  blue  Pacific,  east  and  west.  The  broad 
prints  of  his  snow  shoes  were  upon  the  eternal 
snows  of  everv  land  in  the  ice  bound  north. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE  361 

He  had  been  in  the  far  off  Northland  where,  on 
a  throne  of  ghttering  ice,  robed  in  a  mantle  of 
ermine  frost,  sits  the  Queen  of  the  Heavens. 
And  he  had  seen  crouching  at  her  feet  the  great 
Wliite  Rabbit — ^with  his  own  eyes  had  he  seen 
it.  There  he  had  walked  through  the  valley  of 
peace  and  plenty,  in  the  land  where  the  year 
is  but  a  night  and  a  day.  He  had  passed 
reverently  among  the  graves  of  his  ancestors, 
who  lay  there  sleeping  beneath  the  green 
mantle  that  the  eternal  snows  could  not  chill. 
He  had  communed  with  that  sleeping  race  of 
giant  redmen  and  had  heard  them  whisper  of 
the  day  when  time  shall  be  no  more,  when  the 
enemies  of  his  race  shall  have  passed  and  those 
mighty  warriors  shall  arise  to  claim  their  long 
lost  birthright. 

''And  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah  knew  the  message  of 
the  north  wind  as  it  whistled  among  the  moun- 
tains. To  him  spake  the  giant  redwoods,  as 
they  battled  with  the  gales  of  winter.  And 
they  spake  of  battles  won  in  other  days,  for 
within  those  forest  monarchs  were  imprisoned 
the  souls  of  his  forefathers,  those  red  kings 
of  aforetime.  To  him  sang  the  robin  in  the 
springtime,  and  he  heard  and  understood  the 
twitter   of   the   snowbird,   in  the  days   when 


362  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

Winter  had  laid  his  frosty  fingers  upon  the 
verdant  valley.  For  him  the  pines  and  cedars 
gave  forth  their  balmy  breath  and  fragrant 
balsam.  He  was  Nature's  best  beloved  child 
and  his  mother  was  kind  to  the  sachem. 

"He  it  was  who  taught  the  boys  of  his  tribe 
to  catch  the  fish  with  hooks  of  bone  in  summer, 
and  to  kill  them  with  the  spear  through  the  icy 
coverings  of  the  streams  in  winter.  'Twas 
he  who  taught  them  how  to  make  the  bow  and 
the  barbed  and  feathered  ashen  shafts  that 
should  slay  the  grizzly  and  their  foes  among 
the  redmen.  And  when  the  bows  and  shafts 
were  done  'twas  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah  who  led 
them  into  the  sombre,  fragrant  woods  and 
taught  them  to  stalk  and  slay  the  deer.  He 
was  the  children's  best  friend  and  wisest  coun- 
sellor. 

''Yes,  he  was  a  brave  and  mighty  warrior, 
and  a  wise  one. 

'Tender  hearted  and  loving  though  he  was, 
the  great  heart  of  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah  had  never 
been  touched,  be  it  ever  so  hghtly,  by  love  of 
woman.  Strong  and  tireless  in  the  chase, 
brave  in  battle,  wiser  than  the  wisest  at  the 
council  fires  of  his  people,  kind  and  loving 
to  all,  the  mighty  warrior  kncAv  not  yet  the 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE  363 

burning;,  all  consuming  glow  of  the  most  sacred 
fire  that  burns  on  human  altars — he  knew  not 
the  fire  of  passion.  Of  all  the  dark-eyed 
maidens  and  comely  squaws  of  his  tribe,  there 
was  none  whose  bright  and  longing  eyes  had 
ever  aroused  in  his  bosom  the  glorious  and 
all-responsive  thrill  that  might  have  bid  her 
hope.  Gaze  upon  him  as  yearningly  and 
tenderly  as  she  might,  there  was  not  one  who 
could  say  that  she  was  the  woman  whom  fate 
had  set  apart  for  him. 

''No,  the  handsome  sachem  had  never  known 
the  love  of  woman — and  yet  the  star  of  human 
destiny  was  ever  hovering  over  his  beloved 
head,  and  was  soon  to  illumine  with  its  fiery 
darts  the  utmost  depth  of  the  still,  dark  waters 
of  romance  that  lay  hidden  within  his  soul. 

''There  had  been  a  long  and  parching  drought, 
and  the  dehcate  leaves  and  blossoms,  and  the 
tender  heads  of  the  young  growing  maize  were 
drooping  in  weakness  and  sorrow,  when  from 
his  lofty  mountain  lodge  came  forth  Tu-toch- 
a-nu-lah.  In  his  hand  he  held  the  magic  calu- 
met. Seating  himself  on  a  rocky  height  whence 
he  could  smile  do^Ti  upon  his  faithful  people, 
he   smoked,    and    blew    the   perfumed    clouds 


364  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

toward  heaven.  It  was  early  in  the  morning, 
and  the  red-glowing  Sun  Father  was  just  rising 
from  behind  the  mountains,  his  thirsty  beams 
greedily  drinking  the  lovely  diamond-hke  dew- 
drops  that  tremblingly  hung  upon  the  verdure 
of  the  valley. 

"At  the  further  end  of  the  valley  was  a  mighty 
gray  dome  of  time-worn  granite,  smooth  and 
round  as  though  made  and  poUshed  by  human 
hands.  As  the  circhng  smoke  rings  rose  from 
the  sachem's  calumet,  the  gentle  breeze  bore 
them  slowly  to  the  southward,  where  they  lin- 
gered in  fantastic  wreaths  about  the  dome.  The 
sun  gilded  with  its  brilhant  beams  the  rocky 
summit  and  pierced  the  hovering  clouds  of  per- 
fumed pipe  smoke  as  with  golden  arrows.  The 
dome  was  surrounded  as  it  were  with  a  splendid 
halo,  such  as  the  chieftain  had  never  before  seen. 
As  he  gazed,  the  sky  above  the  dome  was  illu- 
mined as  by  a  gigantic,  surpassingly  beautiful 
rainbow. 

'The  smoke  now  faded  away  and  there  in  a 
blaze  of  golden  glory  sat  a  maiden!  Beautiful 
was  she,  beyond  all  the  women  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah 
had  ever  seen.  She  was  not  Uke  the  dusky, 
dark-eyed,  raven-haired  maidens  of  his  tribe, 
for  her  skin  was  like  the  warm  and  radiant  glow 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE  365 

of  the  fiery  setting  sun  on  the  calm  still  waters  of 
the  blue  Pacific.  Red  were  her  cheeks  Uke  the 
roses  of  the  valley.  Her  hair,  like  the  ripened 
maize  in  autumn,  fell  over  her  white  shoulders 
and  about  her  lovel}^  form  as  falls  the  sparkling 
spray  of  the  beautiful  cataract — the  Bridal  Veil, 
Po-ho-no — like  golden  water  rippling  over  rocks 
of  silver.  Shining  fair  was  her  brow  as  though 
illumined  by  the  pale,  soft  beauty  of  moonlight, 
and  deep  and  dark  was  the  liquid  blue  of  her 
eyes,  like  the  shaded  pools  of  the  verdant  val- 
ley, far,  far  below.  Small  and  shining  was  her 
foot,  Hke  a  tuft  of  feathery  snow  twinkUng 
through  the  boughs  of  the  pines  and  firs  in  win- 
ter— Hke  the  spring  of  a  fairy  bow  was  its  grace- 
ful arch.  Over  her  dimpled,  ivory  shoulders 
fluttered  two  delicate  wings  of  rose-Hke  cloud. 
As  his  eyes  fell  upon  her  she  called  to  him. 
Sweet  and  sad  was  her  voice  as  the  call  of  the 
night  bird  of  the  forest. 

'The  Sachem  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood  and 
gazed  in  speechless  wonder.  The  precious  red 
calumet  fell  unheeded  to  the  ground,  whence  it 
bounded  off  the  rocky  ledge  and  went  clattering 
down  to  a  fragmentary  fate  on  the  cruel  jagged 
rocks  below. 

''The  beautiful  maiden  smiled  upon  him,  and 


366  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEJNIITE 

whispered  softly  as  she  held  out  her  arms  loving- 
ly, entreatingly  toward  him.  'I,  thy  Tis-sa-ack, 
am  here.  Oh,  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah,  come' — then 
gliding  swiftly  up  the  smooth  and  dangerous 
rocky  dome,  she  vanished  over  its  rounded  top. 

''As  springs  the  startled  deer  from  his  leafy 
covert  in  the  woods,  so,  with  heart  aflame,  sprang 
Tu-toch-a-nu-lah  in  pursuit  of  the  lovely  maid- 
en. Swift  and  sure  of  foot  was  he  like  the  pan- 
ther of  the  mountains,  alert  was  he  of  ear  like 
the  wolf  of  the  prairie,  keen  was  his  eye  as  that 
of  the  eagle,  yet  hopeless  was  his  pursuit.  The 
soft  and  beautiful  down  from  her  snowy  wings 
was  wafted  back,  veiHng  her  from  his  enamored 
eyes  and  enveloping  him  in  a  feathery  cloud 
denser  than  the  mist  of  the  morning.  When 
the  mountain  breeze  had  borne  the  obscuring 
cloud  away  and  he  could  once  more  see,  the 
maiden  had  disappeared.  There  was  naught 
upon  the  dome  but  a  rosy  haze  that  was  fast 
dissolving  before  the  merciless  rays  of  the  Sun 
Father.  Far  below  him  he  saw  the  smoke  of 
the  cheerful  camp  fires  of  his  people — the  people 
who  loved  him  and  whom  he  loved.  But  he 
turned  again  and  gazed  longingly  at  the  rocky 
dome. 

''So  fell  the  wise  and  mighty  chieftain  before 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE  367 

the  arrows  of  all  conquering  Love.  He  at  last 
was  as  other  men — touched  by  the  divine 
fire. 

''The  ardent  passion  of  new  found  love  leaves 
room  for  no  other  sentiment,  and  his  people  soon 
found  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah  sadly  changed.  He 
went  no  more  upon  the  hunt  or  fierce  foray ;  the 
savage  bear  no  longer  cowered  and  trembled  at 
the  dread  sound  of  his  footstep  amid  the  moun- 
tains; his  enemies  blanched  not,  nor  quaked 
with  fear  at  the  thunder  of  his  voice.  The 
sachem  was  no  longer  the  wise  counsellor  and 
devoted  ruler;  he  was  like  a  new  and  strange 
being,  and  his  neglected  people  marvelled  much, 
and  beheld  the  change  with  sorrow. 

''Every  morning  w^as  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah  to  be 
found  eagerly  wending  his  way  to  the  rocky 
dome  where  he  first  saw^  the  lovely  Tis-sa-ack. 
He  laid  love  offerings  of  wild  flowers  and  the 
fruit  of  the  bread  pine  upon  the  rocky  dome,  and 
awaited  her  coming  with  all  the  ardor  of  one 
upon  whose  heart  love  has  but  newly  smiled. 
But  only  when  he  was  far  distant  from  the  dome 
on  which  she  sat  enthroned  would  the  beautiful 
maiden  appear  before  his  dazzled  vision. 

"Pursue  her  as  quickly  as  he  might,  he  caught 


368  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

her  not.  He  heard  but  the  faint  and  far-away 
sound  of  her  footsteps,  gentle  as  the  faUing  of 
an  autumn  leaf,  and  the  soft  rustle  of  her  wings 
as  the  unpitying  wind  blew  their  snowy,  be- 
wildering down  into  his  longing  eyes.  He 
might  devour  with  passionate  glances  her  beau- 
tiful, shining  form;  he  might  in  thought  revel  in 
her  glory  of  golden  hair ;  he  might  even  look  from 
afar  into  the  limpid  depths  of  her  gentle  blue 
eyes,  yet  was  he  never  to  clasp  his  loved  one  to 
his  bosom.  Struck  dumb  by  her  wondrous 
beauty,  never  did  he  speak  before  her,  and 
never  again  did  her  sweet-toned  voice  fall  hke 
the  tinkle  of  rippHng  brooks  upon  his  enamored 
ear. 

''And  with  the  full  blossoming  of  the  flower 
of  love  in  the  heart  of  the  sagamore  came  neg- 
lect of  duty.  His  all  absorbing  passion  swal- 
lowed up  all  regard  for  the  welfare  of  his  people — 
all  remembrance  of  the  beautiful  valley  for 
which  he  had  ever  so  tenderly  cared.  The 
world  was  lost  and  found  in  Tis-sa-ack.  So 
all  consuming  was  his  passion  for  her,  so  con- 
stant his  thoughts  of  her,  that  the  crops  of 
Yosemite  were  neglected — aye,  forgotten,  and 
they,  being  without  rain  and  deprived  of  his 
tender  care,  drooped  their  deUcate  heads  mourn- 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE  369 

fully  and  shrank  away  and  died.  The  breezes 
whistled  and  sighed  sadly  through  the  juiceless 
blades  of  the  wild  com  that  rustled  in  shrivelled 
dry  response  that  had  naught  of  life  in  it.  The 
grass  and  leaves  lost  their  freshness  and  turned 
autumnal  brown — sure  harbinger  of  death.  The 
flowers  lost  their  freshness  and  beauty  and  their 
petals  fell  to  the  dry  earth,  one  by  one,  while 
the  bee  no  longer  stored  sweet  honey  in  the 
hollow  trees. 

''Dazzled  were  the  eyes  of  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah 
by  the  shining  wings,  golden  hair  and  ivory 
throat  of  the  beautiful  maiden,  and  he  saw  none 
of  this.  Love  had  blinded  him  to  all  save  its 
object. 

"But  the  fair  Tis-sa-ack  looked  down  upon 
the  unhappy  neglected  valley  with  eyes  of  sor- 
row, as  she  stood  in  the  early  morning  upon  the 
mighty  dome.  As  she  gazed  she  wept  with 
compassion,  and  kneeling  doxvn  on  the  smooth, 
unfeehng  rock  she  besought  the  Great  Spirit  to 
be  merciful  unto  the  beautiful  valley  of  Yosem- 
ite  and  bring  forth  again  the  beautiful  flowers 
and  green  trees  and  shrubs,  the  delicate  grasses, 
nodding  firs  and  waving  maize. 

"Then,  with  an  awful  crash  as  of  thunder,  be- 
neath her  feet  the  great  dome  was  riven  asunder, 


370  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE 

and  the  melting  snows  of  the  Nevada  gushed 
through  the  wonderful  gorge  as  if  by  magic! 
A  lovely  lake  formed  between  the  steep  walls 
of  U\dng  rock,  and  a  gently  murmuring  river 
started  therefrom  on  its  meandering,  life-giving 
course  through  the  parched  and  thirsty  valley. 

"And  then  came  a  wonderful  transformation. 
The  valley  was  infused  with  new  life.  The 
flowers  and  trees,  the  withered  grass  and  the 
yellowing  maize  raised  their  dying  heads  and 
smiled  with  joy  as  the  stream  of  life  crept  si- 
lently through  the  parched  soil  at  their  shrunk- 
en roots.  The  breeze  was  laden  with  the  per- 
fumed thanks  of  the  blossoms;  the  freshened 
blades  of  the  wild  corn  rustled  and  shivered 
with  pleasure  as  the  moisture  laden  air  softly 
caressed  them.  The  mighty  trees  were  thrilled 
with  delight  as  the  sap,  with  velvet  footfall, 
ran  up  their  trunks,  bringing  life  and  energy 
and  renewed  vigor.  All  was  peace  and  hap- 
piness again,  and  the  valley  of  the  Yosemite 
was  once  more  verdant  and  beautiful. 

"But  the  mysterious  maiden,  for  whom  the 
valley  had  so  sadly  suffered — ^she  who  had  so 
successfully  appealed  to  the  Manitou — ^was  seen 
no  more.  As  she  flew  swiftly  as  flies  the  swal- 
low, away  toward  the  western  skies,  there  to 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  YOSEMITE  371 

fade  from  the  sachem's  sight  forever,  myriads 
of  deUcate  downy  tufts  were  wafted  from  her 
lovely  wings.  They  fell  upon  the  margin  of 
the  new  and  beautiful  lake,  and  where  they  fell 
may  to-day  be  seen  thousands  on  thousands 
of  fragrant  little  white  violets. 

''And  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah  is  still  wandering 
sadly  about  the  world  seeking  her  whom  he 
loved  and  lost.  Ere  he  left  his  ancestral  home, 
to  return  no  more,  that  the  noble  race  of  Yo- 
semite  might  never  forget  him  he  carved  the 
outhnes  of  his  god-Uke  head  upon  the  haughty 
rock  that  bears  his  name.  There  it  will  for- 
ever stand,  steadfastly  gazing  toward  the  dome 
whereon  he  found  and  lost  Tis-sa-ack,  the  be- 
loved— the  first  and  last  love  of  his  noble  heart. 

"Sometimes,  when  the  fragrant  morning  breeze 
sweeps  gently  round  and  round  the  rocky  dome, 
the  maidens  of  the  Yosemite  whisper  one  to 
another,  saying : 

"  'Hark!  Tis-sa-ack  the  loved  and  lost  one, 
is  calling  the  brave  Tu-toch-a-nu-lah.'  " 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 


Over  the  entrance  of  what  was  once  the  Iro- 
quois Theater,  hangs  a  head,  which  the  sculptor 
probably  intended  for  the  Goddess  of  Music.  As 
I  gaze  upon  the  head  its  outlines  become  first 
blurred  and  then  transformed.  A  Death's  head 
stands  out  in  bold  relief!  The  noble  image  of 
the  Indian  Chieftain  that  was  once  there,  has 
been  consigned  to  the  Limbo  of  the  Forgotten — 
to  the  Valley  of  Dead  Lumber.  The  Death's 
head  grins  and  grins — grins  sardonically.  One 
can  almost  hear  a  chuckle,  as  the  horrid  thing 
looks  down  upon  the  heedless,  hurrying  crowd 
in  the  busy  street.  Seeing  the  thing  above  the 
door  as  I  passed  by  in  the  midst  of  the  throng 
to-day,  I  wondered  why  it  grinned, — ^why  it  did 
not  weep.  Did  it  grin  because  it  knew  how 
soulless  were  the  human  things  that  inspired 
the  hand  which  carved  it;  because  it  and  the 
men  who  placed  it  there  were  of  the  same  broth- 
erhood of  ghouls;  because  it  felt  that  it  was  a 
grim  satire  upon  humanity? 

372 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME  373 

Have  men  whose  hearts  are  adamant,  whose 
souls  are  sordid,  the  right  to  stamp  their  own 
shamelessness  upon  a  helpless  block  of  stone; 
the  right  to  hang  it  where  it  must  perforce  re- 
flect their  own  cold,  calculating,  emotion  defy- 
ing inner  consciousness  upon  the  man  in  the 
street? 

Beneath  the  grinning  head,  and  flanking  it 
below  on  either  side,  are  impudently  assertive, 
glaring  legends  that  proclaim  in  lurid  blatant 
type — 'The  Iroquois  is  no  more."  The  new 
temple  of  Thespis  which.  Phoenix  like,  has 
risen  from  the  ashes  of  the  old,  is  a  "Music 
Hall/' 

More  harshly  grating  than  all  is  the  legend 
which  announces  that  the  new  place  of  amuse- 
ment will  open  to-night.  Thus  have  insensate 
paint,  paper  and  ink  become  accessories  to  a 
crime. 

Yes,  to-night  the  theater  re-opens.  ''Refined 
Vaudeville"  with  a  "Galaxj^  of  Stars,"  the  bill 
boards  say.  And  as  the  players  caper  about 
and  sing,  dance  and  perpetrate  their  quips  and 
jokes,  will  they  not  see?  They  will  gaze  out 
upon  the  audience  that  applauds,  and  how  can 
they  fail  to  see  the  wraiths  of  that  other  audi- 
ence?   They  will  all  be  there,  those  ghostly 


374  A  GREAT  CIT\"S  SHAME 

ones.  Sitting  bolt  upright  where  they  died, 
piled  row  upon  row  in  the  aisles,  massed  in  be- 
wildering tangles  at  the  doors — those  delusive 
doors  that  would  not  open — they  will  all  be 
there.     And  will  they  applaud,   think  j^ou? 

In  this  commercial  age  there  is  Httle  room 
for  sentiment.  A  people  that  will  permit  the 
fair  face  of  Nature  to  be  disfigured  by  the 
painter  of  patent  medicine  ads;  that  will  gaze 
calmly  upon  a  pictured  ham  or  the  announce- 
ment of  the  birth  of  a  new  "hver-pad"  on  the 
Palisades;  that  wdll  tolerate  on  our  boulevards 
flaming  advertisements  of  the  latest  thing  in 
corsets  or  "union  suits,"  is  not  likely  to  protest 
against  a  Death's  head  that  merely  grins  over 
the  gate  of  a  charnel  house.  And  yet  the 
people  know.  They  have  read  of  the  aw^ful 
things  that  he  behind  that  awful  grin.  Many 
of  them  have  suffered,  still  more  have  seen. 
A  fev/,  a  very  few,  go  by  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street  ^dth  suffused  eyes  averted,  and 
great  sobs  of  agony  welling  up  in  their  throats. 

*'An'  I  should  Hve  a  thousand  years,"  I 
could  not  forget.  Many  horrible  sights  had  I 
seen ;  much  suffering  had  I  witnessed ;  the  faces 
of  the  dead  had  long  since  ceased  to  be  a  novelt}- 
to  me  and  w^ere  no  longer  awesome; — I  fancied 


A  GREAT  CIT\"S  SHAME  375 

I  had  grown  callous.  But  that  awful  fire! 
Would  that  I  could  blunt  the  memory  of  it. 
Would  that  I  might  shelve  it  as  but  another 
experience  in  the  land  of  Work-a-day. 

As  I  looked  upon  the  Death's  head,  it  seemed 
to  single  me  out  from  the  crowd,  leering  at  me 
triumphantly.  Did  it  note  my  emotion  and 
gloat  over  it? 

I  raged  inwardly  and  was  tempted  to — But, 
had  I  seized  a  paving  stone  and  smashed  that 
vile  image  to  bits,  I  could  not  have  made  them 
understand.  Least  of  all  could  I  have  com- 
pelled the  understanding  of  that  huge  poUce- 
man,  who  stood  idly  by,  swinging  his  club  in 
a  way  that  suggested  danger  to  sentimental 
cranks.  When  that  team  of  horses  swung 
around  the  corner,  narrowly  missing  a  woman 
who,  bundles  in  arms  and  children  at  her  side, 
was  frantically  trying  to  cross  the  street,  the 
officer  was  gazing  at  a  figure  of  Gambrinus  in 
the  saloon  window  across  the  way.  He  had 
appetites,  but  no  sentiment,  that  man  in  blue. 

Standing  there  in  the  street,  jostled  and 
elbowed  by  the  surging  crowd  that  had  no  time 
for  dreaming,  there  rose  before  me  a  picture 
which  the  Death's  head  also  saw; — its  expression 
showed  that. 


376  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 

When  on  that  fateful  afternoon  the  call  came 
for  physicians  to  succor  the  hapless  victims  of 
that  pitiless  massacre  of  the  innocents,  there 
was  no  hesitancy  upon  the  part  of  all  who  were 
within  call.  They  hastened  to  respond,  and 
stood  not  upon  the  order  of  their  going.  Hu- 
manity cried  for  aid — that  was  enough.  When 
I  arrived  at  the  scene,  only  a  few  moments 
after  the  occurrence  of  the  frightful  disaster, 
the  firemen  had  just  forced  their  way  into  the 
foyer.  The  air  within  had  begun  to  be  barely 
breathable.  Noticing  several  firemen  groping 
their  way  up  one  of  the  marble  stairways,  I 
followed  them.  The  air  was  so  full  of  pungent 
smoke  that  objects  were  wdth  great  difficulty 
to  be  made  out.  At  the  top  of  the  stairs,  on 
the  landing  just  outside  the  only  door  that  was 
open  in  the  front  of  the  theater,  the  firemen 
met  with  an  obstruction — a  solid,  monstrous 
cube  of  human  bodies,  as  high  as  one  could 
reach.  This  ghastly  mass  of  bodies  was  free 
upon  two  sides — at  the  upper  steps  of  the  main 
stair  and  at  the  top  of  several  steps  leading  to 
a  main  balcony  within  the  foyer.  On  the  other 
side  the  mass  was  hemmed  in  by  the  wall  of  the 
stairway.  Behind  it  were  piled  the  bodies  of 
other  human  beings  who  had  tried  to  climb 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME  377 

over  those  in  front  and  had  failed.  These  last 
extended  from  the  choked  up  door  almost  to 
the  lower  balcony  rail  within  the  theater. 
There  was  another  door,  but  this  was  closed 
tight,  and  staunchly  held  by  a  strong  lock  and 
a  heavy  something  behind  it. 

Seeing  this  wall  of  bodies  I  stopped  short; — 
I  confess  it.  The  awful  shock  of  it  all  came 
over  me.  For  a  moment  I  felt  my  knees  give 
way  beneath  me.  I  grew  faint  and  sick, — and 
then  started  back  the  way  I  had  come.  Half 
way  down  the  stairs  I  stopped,  and  pulUng 
myself  together  went  back  to  duty.  And  then 
I  stayed,  like  a  soldier  who  runs  away  at  the 
first  volley  of  shot,  but  comes  back  and  fights 
to  the  end. 

The  firemen  were  pulling  at  the  mass  of 
bodies,  vainly  trying  to  dislodge  them.  Several 
of  the  men  climbed  on  top  of  the  awful  pile 
and  tried  to  disentangle  the  bodies,  bruising 
and  crushing  the  while  the  upturned  faces  and 
helpless  limbs  with  their  cruel  boots. 

Alas!  The  mass  of  bodies  was  not  to  be 
untangled  until  too  late,  far  too  late.  And  yet, 
the  pile  was  free  upon  two  sides,  and  it  looked 
easy  enough  to  extricate  those  who  were  there. 
And  so  we  tugged,  and  strained,  and  pulled, 


378  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 

and  pried  at  them.  ''My  God!"  I  thought. 
''If  we  can  only  break  the  dead-lock  and  get 
them  started!" 

"Break  the  dead-lock?"  Well,  perhaps  we 
might  have  done  so  if  we  had  worked  longer 
and  more  systematically.  But  the  firemen 
said,  "It's  no  use." 

A  big  policeman  who  stood  idly  by,  too 
dignified  to  help  in  the  work  of  rescue,  said  to 
me,  "Gwan  out  o'  that!" 

"But,"  I  answered,  "I'm  a  doctor.  Some  of 
these  people  must  be  ahve.  I  can't  go  away 
without  trying  to  get  a  body  out.  If  I  get 
only  one  out  we  may  break  the  lock." 

And  again  he  said,  "Gwan  out  o'  that,  or 
I'll — "  and  he  brandished  his  club  menacingly. 

And  so  I  went  "out  o'  that."  I  climbed 
over  the  bannister  and  on  to  the  balcony  and 
attacked  the  bodies  from  the  other  side,  un- 
noticed by  the  officer  and  free  from  interference 
by  the  firemen,  who  had  all  gone,  save  two  or 
three  whose  feet  were  still  grinding  and  crushing 
the  inanimate  forms  on  the  top  of  the  pile. 

Again  I  tugged  and  pulled  at  the  bodies, 
this  time  with  vfith  better  success.  Down  in 
one  corner  of  the  mass,  protected  somewhat 
by  the  marble  pillar  forming  the  arch  which 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME  379 

connected  the  landing  with  the  balcony,  lay 
a  httle  boy  of  perhaps  ten  years  of  age.  I  drew 
him  out  quite  easily.  He  still  breathed.  Next 
to  liim  laj^  the  body  of  a  grey  haired  woman. 
Her  face  was  gashed  across  by  a  blow  from 
the  boot  of  some  one  caught  in  the  death 
struggles  of  that  pile.  As  I  dragged  her  body 
from  beneath  the  towering  mass  of  death,  an 
opera  glass,  innocent  accessory  to  murder,  fell 
from  her  nerveless  hand  and  clattered  upon  the 
marble  floor  of  the  balcony  She,  too,  was 
alive. 

Cmiosity  seekers  had  by  this  time  entered 
the  building.  I  impressed  several  of  them  into 
service,  and  between  us  we  carried  the  bodies 
of  the  old  woman  and  the  boy  down  the  stair 
by  which  they  had  climbed  to  their  deaths,  to 
the  street,  and  into  the  restaurant  next  door, 
which  was  rapidly  becoming  transformed  into 
a  morgue  and  hospital  emergency  ward.  Leav- 
ing the  poor  creatures  to  the  care  of  some  of 
my  brother  physicians,  I  rushed  back  to  that 
pile  of  bodies — to  again  attempt  to  break  that 
awful  dead-lock. 

As  I  re-entered  the  door  of  the  theater  I 
heard  a  man  wildly  expostulating  with  several 
policemen.     He  madly  insisted  on  entering,  and 


380  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 

they  as  strenuously  refused  to  allow  him  to  do 
so.  His  voice  seemed  famiUar,  and  I  turned 
to  look.  He  sprang  past  the  opposing  arms 
of  the  officers,  gi-asped  me  by  the  shoulders 
and  cried,  ''My  God!  man,  can't  you  help  me? 
My  daughters  are  in  there  somewhere!"  He 
was  one  of  mj^  oldest  and  dearest  friends.  I 
had  watched  his  children  grow  up  from  baby- 
hood to  childhood,  from  childhood  to  woman- 
hood and  loved  them. 

"Surely,"  I  said,  ''you  are  mistaken." 

"No,  no,  I  am  sure!"  he  cried,  in  agony. 
"Help  me  to  find  them,  oh,  help  me  to  find 
them!" 

"Come  '^ith  me,"  I  replied,  as  I  sprang  up 
the  stairs.  Pointing  to  the  pile  of  bodies  on 
the  landmg,  I  said,  "If  they  were  in  the  theater 
at  all,  let  us  hope  that  they  have  either  escaped 
or  are  here  in  this  pile.  Help  me,  Harry,  let 
us  try  to  get  these  bodies  free." 

Imprisoned  in  the  mass  of  bodies,  hanging 
several  feet  above  the  floor,  caught  only  by  the 
lower  limbs,  with  the  head,  trimk  and  arms 
perfectly  free,  was  the  body  of  a  powerful  man. 
Surely  this  one  could  be  removed.  My  friend, 
one  of  the  strongest  men  I  know,  assisted  me, 
and  we  pulled  at  the  body  until — well,  until 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME  381 

my  poor  friend  weakened  and  fled.  And  then 
two  other  sturdy  men  came  to  my  aid,  and  we 
tugged  at  the  body  until  a  poHceman  drove  us 
away.  And  my  dear  friend's  children  were  in 
that  heap  of  dead  all  the  while! 

Not  until  the  theater  proper  was  entered, 
and  the  bodies  that  were  heaped  up  behind 
them  removed,  did  it  become  possible  to  remove 
the  dead  upon  the  landing.  Oh,  the  pity  of  it! 
There  they  lay,  apparently  outside  the  zone  of 
danger  and  death.  And  the  hands  that  would 
fain  have  saved  them  were  impotent.  Un- 
tangle them?  Think  of  a  lot  of  huge  angle- 
worms massed  together ;  give  those  angle-worms 
legs  and  arms  to  twist  and  intertwine,  hands  to 
grip  in  the  death  throes,  and  heads  to  interlock, 
and  you  may  understand .  And  yet,  perhaps  not, 
— I  myself  could  not  understand,  nor  beheve, 
had  I  not  seen. 

Looking  back  upon  that  awful  scene  of  deso- 
lation I  can  find  but  one  crumb  of  comfort — only 
one  consolation.  At  the  time  I  felt  that  many 
in  that  pile  of  human  forms  must  surely  be 
alive  and  could  be  saved,  if  only  they  could  be 
extricated.  Oh,  the  horror  of  the  idea!  It 
overwhelmed  me  then.  But  now  as  my  mind 
reverts  to  that  scene  of  death,  I  am  sure  that 


382  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAISIE 

very  few  could  have  been  alive,  surer  still  that 
none  were  conscious.  I  recall  that  not  a  sound 
came  from  those  lost  ones.  Not  a  cry  for  help, 
not  a  moan  of  distress,  not  even  a  sigh  to  indi- 
cate that  life  was  still  there.  Oh,  the  awful  still- 
ness of  it  all!  The  stillness  of  the  dead  lying 
on  the  dripping  slabs  of  a  morgue.  The  still- 
ness of  the  subjects  lying  upon  the  tables  of  the 
dissecting  room.  Even  the  man  whose  trunk 
and  head  were  free  gave  forth  no  sound.  He 
was  caught  only  up  to  his  hips.  Had  he  been 
aUve,  surely  he  would  have  made  some  sign. 
He  was  not  crushed,  save  perhaps  as  to  his  lower 
limbs,  and  that  could  not  have  been  mortal. 
The  weight  of  bodies  does  not  crush  limbs  as 
does  machinery.  No,  he  certainly  must  have 
been  dead. 

And  why  did  all  these  people  fall  upon  the 
landing?    Of  w^hat  did  they  die? 

Plunging  in  the  dark,  pell  mell  through  that 
one  narrow  door,  the  poor  creatures  stumbled 
down  several  steps  that  led  from  the  door  to  the 
landing.  Cunningly  devised  trap  this — wise 
architect  that  designed  it.  Those  who  went 
down,  rose  not  again.  They  lay  crushed  by 
the  weight  of  the  tangled  up  scores  of  other 
hapless  ones  who  followed  after.    A  small  part 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME  383 

of  the  crowd,  those  who  were  not  caught  in  the 
tangle,  flowed,  as  it  were,  over  the  top.  A  few, 
just  a  very  few,  thus  escaped. 

As  the  helpless  creatures  lay  there  in  that 
fearful  jam,  at  the  only  available  exit  in  the 
front  of  the  house,  the  smoke,  and  flame,  and 
noxious  gases  were  drawn  irresistibly  to  that 
same  door.  They  too,  sought  an  exit  at  the 
front,  and  found  only  that  death  trap.  The 
draught  must  have  been  fierce,  the  flames  like 
a  breath  from  hell.  While  the  still  breathing, 
palpitating  mass  of  crushed  and  bruised  human- 
ity lay  there  imprisoned,  the  smoke  and  gases 
were  sucked  through  the  door  into  the  foyer, 
diffusing  themselves  through  the  writhing  hu- 
man hecatomb,  and  giving  those  not  yet  dead  a 
painless  coup  de  grace.  How  soon  it  must  have 
been  over!  How  useless  the  emotions  that 
shook  my  very  soul  as  I  gazed  upon  the  slaugh- 
tered ones.  And  how  solacing  the  conclusions 
with  which  calm  retrospection  has  replaced  the 
horrible  immediate  impressions  of  the  scene 
itself. 

Merciful  indeed,  the  smoke  and  those  nox- 
ious gases,  especially  for  those  luckless  ones 
who  lay  on  the  top  of  the  pile  of  victims.  These 
were    scorched    and    burned — not    badly,    but 


384  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 

enough  to  show  that  with  the  death-dealing 
smoke  and  gases  the  flames  came  also.  A  fear- 
ful gust  or  two — perhaps  only  one,  and  the  work 
was  done. 

And  the  scene  at  the  open  door  of  death  was 
but  a  fragment  of  the  frightful  holocaust. 
Death's  barbecue  lay  behind  that  heap  of 
bodies.  Towering  up  behind  that  other  front 
door  w^hich  would  not  open,  were  scores  of 
blackened  bodies,  some  burned  and  distorted  out 
of  all  semblance  to  their  living  form.  Still 
others  sat  upright  where  Death  had  surprised 
them.  They  died  in  their  seats  without  resist- 
ance, overcome  doubtless,  by  the  deadly  gases. 

There,  standing  erect,  hke  soldiers,  packed 
like  sardines,  on  a  stair  case  behind  a  locked 
iron  gate,  was  row  on  row  of  dead,  who  had  lost 
their  lives  trying  to  escape  from  the  gallery  to 
join  the  panic-stricken  ones  in  the  lower  bal- 
cony. Hopeless  effort — ^what  matter  where  they 
died?  As  well  meet  death  face  to  face,  there 
upon  that  inner  stair  behind  that  merciless  trap 
gate,  as  in  that  pile  upon  the  landing — perhaps 
better,  who  knows? 

Over  yonder  is  an  ''exit,"  one  of  many  simi- 
lar delusions.  This  one  leads  into  a  blind  hall- 
way.    Here  again,  stand  the  dead  bodies  of  un- 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME  385 

fortunate  beings  who  died  fighting  for  Ufe  against 
invincible  odds. 

Scattered  about  in  the  aisles  between  the  bal- 
cony rail  and  the  death  trap  "exits" — oh,  the 
mockery  of  the  word! — lay  bodies  burned  to  a 
cinder.  Among  them  lay  the  body  of  a  noble 
youth,  the  son  of  one  of  my  friends,  whose  life 
was  so  full  of  promise,  so  replete  with  possible 
future  usefulness,  so  suggestive  of  future  great- 
ness even,  that  I  do  not  wonder  the  father  was 
crushed  to  the  earth.  I  loved  the  lad,  and  if, 
deep  down,  my  friend's  grief  were  tinged  with 
resentment  against  the  ordering  of  things,  I 
could  understand  and  sympathize. 

What  foolishness  have  I  attempted  here? 
Describe  that  scene  within  the  Iroquois?  Never 
was  quill  wrought,  that  could  do  the  subject 
justice!  Do  you,  those  curious  ones,  who  idly 
stood  in  crow^ds  about  the  building,  watching  the 
poor  victims  who  sprang  from  the  v/indows  in 
the  upper  galleries  or  attempted  to  pass  on  a 
frail  ladder  to  the  building  across  the  alley,  only 
to  be  hurled  to  the  ground  and  mangled  to 
death  or  permanent  disability,  think  you  could 
picture  it?  If  so,  your  storm  centers  of  emotion 
have  no  more  potential  energy  than  a  babbling 
brook — no   more   dynamic   capacity   than   the 


386  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 

breeze  that  ripples  a  mill  pond.  Do  you,  my 
friend,  who  stood  with  gaping  mouth,  watching 
the  charred,  blackened  forms  brought  forth  from 
the  maw  of  hell  by  the  firemen,  think  you  could 
depict  the  fearful  sight?  If  so,  I  can  only  say : 
"You  did  not  see." 

Within  the  restaurant,  the  doctors  worked 
like  beavers.  They  did  not  always  work  system- 
atically— that  was  impossible,  in  that  confused 
mass  of  people.  Confusion?  Ye  Gods!  Was 
there  ever  such  another  scene?  Distracted 
friends  and  relatives  in  search  of  their  loved 
ones,  nurses,  doctors,  firemen,  policemen,  and 
others  who  were  trying  to  lend  a  helping  hand, 
all  contributed  to  the  seething  crowd  of  excited 
humanity  that  packed  the  place.  Then  there 
were  the  vulgar,  bestial  ones  who  stood  and 
gaped  sensually  at  the  nudity  of  the  fire  victims 
who  were  being  partially  stripped  by  the 
doctors  in  their  efforts  to  save.  Yes,  such  were 
there,  and  they  were  numerous  enough  to  make 
one  blush  for  humanity.  These  cursed  blots 
upon  the  face  of  nature,  these  moral  monstros- 
ities, and  the  other  morbidly  curious  beings 
were  aUke  obstructive.  The  first  might  not 
be  killed  without  process  of  law,  and  there  was 
so  much  to  do  that  time  could  not  be  spared 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAI^IE  387 

to  throw  the  latter  out  upon  the  street.  Once 
I  very  nearly  forgot  my  surroundings.  I  asked 
a  man  who  stood  near  to  help  me  lift  some  dead 
bodies  from  a  table  to  the  floor,  to  make  room 
for  others  in  which  there  might  still  be  life. 
He  refused  and  moved  away,  saying,  ''You 
can  do  your  own  dirty  work."  It  was  then 
I  so  nearly  forgot,  and  said  sundry  sulphurous 
things.  Had  there  been  time,  perhaps  I  should 
have  entirely  forgotten.  But  I  fancy  the  cur 
was  frightened,  for  after  our  brief  and  forceful 
interview  he  started  for  the  door  and  I  did  not 
see  him  again. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  midst  of  the  closely  packed 
throng  the  stalwart  firemen  and  poHcemen 
pushed  their  way  as  best  they  could,  bearing 
the  bodies  of  the  dead.  The  work  of  rescue 
was  going  on  very  slowly.  Even  the  doctors 
were  not  using  their  skill  to  the  best  advantage. 
In  some  instances  a  veritable  throng  of  them 
were  w^orking,  or  attempting  to  work,  simul- 
taneously upon  one  body.  A  clear  headed 
layman  grasped  the  situation  and,  with  the 
assistance  of  some  of  the  physicians,  evolved 
order  out  of  chaos.  Three  doctors  were  assigned 
to  each  table;  the  police  cleared  out  many  of 
the  drones  in  the  crowd,  and  things  began  to 


388  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 

move  more  swiftly.  The  police  in  general  did 
excellent  work.  A  glaring  exception  was  a 
certain  well-known  captain.  Noticing  his  in- 
signia of  office,  I  asked  him  to  clear  away  the 
people  who  were  obstructing  the  passage  of  the 
men  who  were  carrying  in  the  bodies.  He 
replied,  'I've  got  no  time  for  you.  Hunt  up 
the  man  who  has  charge  of  the  police  detail." 
And  then  the  heartless  brute  went  on  gaping 
and  getting  in  the  way  along  with  the  rest  of 
the  morbidly  curious. 

I  wonder  if  many  realize  what  it  means  to  see 
dead  bodies  so  numerous  that  they  might  be 
estimated  by  the  cord.  Those  who  do,  may 
perhaps  picture  to  themselves  the  harrowing 
scenes  about  those  tables  where  the  physicians 
worked.  As  soon  as  a  body  was  pronounced 
dead,  it  was  hurriedly  laid  aside  to  make  room 
for  a  possibly  hopeful  case.  Cases  in  which 
resuscitation  was  accompHshed  were  carried 
to  the  waiting  ambulances  and  taken  to  the 
hospitals.     But,  alas!  these  cases  were  few. 

The  bodies  were  brought  to  us  in  a  seemingly 
endless  stream.  As  body  after  body  was  pro- 
nounced lifeless  and  laid  aside,  the  piles  of 
dead  upon  the  tables  grew  higher  and  higher, 


A  GREAT  CITY  S  SHAME  389 

grew  until,  as  I  have  said,  they  could  only  be 
compared  to  piles  of  cord  wood. 

And  what  a  difference  in  those  bodies !  Some 
were  so  seared,  so  blistered  and  blackened 
from  the  fire  and  smoke,  that  in  the  handhng 
of  them  the  skin,  and  even  the  flesh,  came  off 
in  one^s  hands  in  great  shreds  and  rolls.  A  far 
greater  number  were  so  free  from  mar  or 
discoloration,  and  their  faces  were  so  calm  and 
peaceful  that  it  was  hard  to  believe  them  dead. 
Indeed,  it  was  difficult  to  believe  even  that 
animation  was  suspended.  They  apparently 
had  just  fallen  asleep. 

And  these  last  were  to  me  the  most  awful 
sight  of  all.  The  others — ^\^'ell,  they  were 
better  dead  than  Hving  disfigured  and  maimed, 
and  besides,  there  had  at  no  time  been  hope  for 
them.  But  these,  ah,  these !  If  only  they  had 
not  lain  so  long.  A  little  stimulant  for  the 
heart,  a  few  compressions  and  relaxations  of 
the  chest,  and  the  life  giving  ox^^gen  would  have 
entered  their  lungs  and  blood.  They  would 
have  been  saved. 

What  pathetic  incidents  there  were  in  that 
restaurant. 

A  doctor  friend  of  mine,  a  big  hearted,  broad 
shouldered    Nature's   nobleman,   was   pushing 


390  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 

his  way  here  and  there  through  the  crowd.  I 
noted  him  towering  above  those  about  him  as 
he  jostled  the  people  about,  and  called  to  him, 
"Will  you  take  a  table?"  But  he  did  not 
answer.  He  did  not  seem  to  see  or  hear.  He 
went  on  through  the  crowd  from  table  to  table 
and  finally  disappeared.  I  marvelled  then, 
for  I  did  not  know.  Poor  fellow,  his  two 
daughters,  beautiful  young  women,  had  gone 
to  the  Iroquois  that  day.  He  was  looking,  and 
looking, — for  that  which  was  bound  to  crush 
him,  and  hoping, — ah!  hoping  against  hope,  as 
the  sequence  proved.  His  light  had  gone  out 
— and  it  has  stayed  out. 

And  I  have  just  an  inkling  of  what  it  all 
meant  to  the  bereaved  ones.  I  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  ascertain  whether  my  own  wife  and 
children  had  chanced  to  go  to  the  Iroquois  that 
afternoon.  I  recalled  however,  that  I  had 
taken  them  to  see  the  same  play  a  few  days  be- 
fore, and  concluded  that  they  were  not  hkely 
to  attend  it  again  soon,  but  still — 

The  horrible  doubt  had  just  begun  to  befog 
my  mind,  when  a  new  subject  was  laid  upon 
the  table  where  I  was  working.  It  was  the  body 
of  a  young  girl.  As  I  took  the  first  hasty  glance 
at  this  latest  unfortunate,  I  was  almost  stunned. 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAiAIE  391 

The  resemblance  to  my  younger  daughter  was 
so  startling  that  I  was  all  but  sure  it  was  she. 
It  was  but  a  fleeting  moment  before  I  knew, 
but  that  ephemeral  space  of  time  was  enough. 
And  then  I  understood,  oh,  so  well. 

"A  father's  heart  should  not  be  deceived,  even 
for  a  moment,"  I  fancy  I  hear  some  one  say. 
Perhaps  not,  yet  there  was  one  unhappy  man 
in  that  frantic  throng  of  those  who  were  seeking 
their  beloved  ones,  whom  I  beheld,  thrice  in 
succession,  identifjdng  a  strange  child  as  his 
own.  And  that  father  had  a  heart  of  hearts, 
as  I  have  occasion  to  know. 

Lying  beneath  one  of  the  tables  lay  the  body 
of  a  beautiful  little  girl  of  about  twelve  years 
of  age.  Fair  was  she,  with  golden  hair  and 
cheeks  still  red.  A  doctor  saw  her  lying  there 
and  paused,  wondering  to  himself  whether  his 
brethren  had  worked  quite  long  enough.  She 
surely  did  not  look  as  if  she  were  dead. 

As  the  doctor  stood  wondering  thus,  a  group 
of  young  lads  approached  him  from  the  other 
side  of  the  table.  One  of  them  cried  appeal- 
ingly: 

''Oh,  doctor,  won't  you  please  try  once  more 
to  save  that  little  girl.  We  know  her,  and  know 
her  folks,  and  it  will  kill  them  if  she  dies." 


392  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 

Another  physician  who  was  passing  by,  over- 
hearing said,  ''No  use,  old  man.  We  worked 
over  her  for  forty  minutes  before  we  gave  her 
up,"  and  he  hurried  on  to  another  table. 

''Oh,  but  doctor,"  said  one  of  the  boys  appeal- 
ingly,  "I  just  saw  her  eyes  quiver." 

"Yes,"  said  another,  "and  one  of  her  fingers 
just  moved." 

"Dear,  optimistic  Httle  liars,"  said  the  doctor 
afterward,  "I  just  couldn't  stand  it.  I  pulled 
the  body  off  the  pile  on  which  it  lay,  put  it  on 
the  table,  and  worked  like  a  horse  over  it  for 
thirty  minutes.  And  when  the  poor  little  chest 
made  a  few  pitifully  gasping  sounds  under  my 
efforts,  the  expression  of  joy  and  hope  on  the 
faces  of  those  lads  was  wonderful  to  see. 

"And  w^hen  through  sheer  fatigue  I  at  last 
gave  up  the  self  imposed  task  that  I  knew  was 
hopeless  at  the  beginning,  one  of  the  boys  ap- 
proached me  and  tearfully  whispered,  'Please, 
doctor,  won't  you  tell  me  your  name?  We  want 
to  see  that  you  get  paid  for  trying  to  save  our 
httle  friend.     You  did  just  the  best  you  could.' 

"And,"  said  the  doctor,  "I  couldn't  answer 
him  as  I  would  have  done  had  he  been  grown  up. 
The  poor  boy  w^ould  not  have  understood.     I 


A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAJSIE  393 

just  choked  up  and  sputtered,  'See  you  again, 
by  and  by,  my  boy,  I'm  in  a  hurry  now.' 

"Just  think,"  concluded  the  doctor,  ''here 
was  a  vara  avis — a  dead  person's  friend  who 
thought  a  doctor  should  be  rewarded  for  doing 
the  best  he  could." 

And  when  I  heard  the  story  I  said,  "Old  fel- 
low, that  boy's  sentiments  were  awfull}^  out  of 
place,  but  who  shall  say  that  they  were  out  of 
tune?" 

There  are  many  book-made  heroes,  but  few 
of  real  flesh  and  blood.  There  was  one  among 
the  injured  ones  who  were  brought  in  uncon- 
scious and  laid  upon  the  tables  at  that  restau- 
rant. He  was  a  boy  of  some  twelve  or  fourteen 
years  of  age.  He  remained  unconscious  for 
fully  half  an  hour.  Just  as  the  doctors  were 
about  to  give  him  up  as  hopeless,  he  began  to 
revive,  and  was  soon  out  of  danger.  Several 
pohcemen  approached  him. 

"A^Tiat's  your  name,  sonny?"  asked  one  of 
the  officers. 

'T  won't  tell  you  my  name,"  replied  the  bo3\ 

"Yes,  but  you  must  tell  me  your  name." 

"But  I  won't  do  it,  so  there  now,"  and  the  boy 
set  his  teeth  defiantly. 

CXirious  to  know  why  the  boy  objected  to 


394  A  GREAT  CITl^'S  SHAME 

telling  who  he  was,  I  motioned  the  officers 
aside  and  asked  quietly, 

''Why  don't  you  give  the  policemen  your 
name,  my  boy?" 

*'  'Cause, "replied  the  boy,  ''if  I  do,  my  pa  and 
my  ma'll  hear  about  my  bein'  hurt  an'  it'll 
scare  'em  most  to  death." 

And  the  boy  would  not  be  cajoled  until  I  told 
him  the  only  way  to  prevent  shock  to  his  par- 
ents was  to  notify  them  that  he  was  safe.  He 
grasped  the  situation  and  smiled  happily  as  he 
gave  his  name  and  started  for  the  ambulance. 

Ah,  Jimmy  Kerwin,  you  are  a  thoroughbred, 
if  ever  there  was  one. 

But  why  recall  all  the  details  of  that  fright- 
ful disaster — the  most  awful  experience  I  have 
ever  met  with.  Have  I  not  told  enough  to  justi- 
fy the  indignation  that  filled  me  when  I  saw  the 
Death's  head  and  read  those  heartless  legends? 

The  new  Music  Hall  opened  last  evening 
as  per  schedule.  I  was  not  surprised  to  read 
in  the  papers  this  morning  that  the  opening 
night  was  a  brilliant  success.  Every  seat  was 
sold.  The  audience  was  as  enthusiastic  as  it 
was  large.  This  was  well — ^a  smaller  audience 
would  not  have  been  a  fitting  crown  to  Chicago's 


A  GREAT  CIT\  'S  SHAME  395 

shame  and  humanity's  disgrace.  Humanity 
has  glossed  itself  over  with  a  veneer  of  what  it 
pleases  to  term  civilization,  but  primitive  man 
peeps  out  from  beneath  its  edges  and  obtrudes 
itself  whenever  and  wherever  the  veneer  is 
cracked  ever  so  little.  And  so,  a  large  audience 
was  to  have  been  expected.  The  managers 
of  the  place  well  knew  human  nature. 

The  applause  of  that  audience  was  the  apo- 
theosis of  poor  old  Rip  Van  Winkle's  lament, 
**How  soon  we  are  forgot."  Things  inanimate 
revolted  at  the  sight  and  sound  of  it.  A  drop 
curtain  caught,  precisely  as  that  cheap,  flimsy 
asbestos  fraud  did  on  that  memorable  day  at 
the  Iroquois.  And  then  the  insensate  human 
things  remembered — remembered  that  they  were 
not  fii'e  proof.  They  remembered,  not  the 
dead,  but  that  other  caught  curtain,  the  flame, 
the  gas,  the  trampling,  crushing,  tearing  rush 
of  madmen  fighting  for  life,  and  the  farcical  exits 
They  remembered  themselves  only,  and  were 
startled,  affrighted,  ripe  for  a  panic  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then — they  laughed  again  I 

Human  beings  seeking  gay  diversion  in  a 
crypt  of  death,  splitting  the  air  of  a  charnel 
house  with  vociferous  applause,  startling  the 


396  A  GREAT  CITY'S  SHAME 

ghosts  that  people  the  place  by  boisterous 
laughter — faugh ! 

The  performance  over,  the  callous  ones  filed 
slowly  out  of  the  hall,  chatting  like  magpies 
and  discussing  the  merits  of  the  various  features 
of  the  performance.  They  traversed  the  same 
road  over  which  the  ghastly  forms  of  that  other 
audience  were  carried.  And  as  the  pleasure 
seekers  gaily  tripped  along,  they  passed  between 
and  over  scores  and  scores  of  recumbent  ghosts. 
Had  the  forms  of  these  poor  wraiths  been  more 
substantial  there  would  have  been  brushings 
against  them,  stumblings  over  them. 

Over  the  door  the  Death's  head  still  grinned. 
Chicago's  shame  was  complete.  Her  burnt 
offerings  on  the  altar  of  Mammon  were  for- 
gotten. 


14  DAY  USE 

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on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

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